


Unnatural

by Lexin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-03
Updated: 2006-04-03
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:39:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4952062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexin/pseuds/Lexin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate universe far, far away from the "real" Harry Potter universe, Harry Potter gets into trouble. Or you could call it "trouble."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part one

**Author's Note:**

> Male pregnancy, Genderbender. We don't *really* think Harry is a hermaphrodite. Even Lexin and Tidmag have more brains than that. This is a world where magic works; if you can believe in magic and werewolves, believing in a fully functional hermaphrodite should be a snap.
> 
> This was co-written with a writer called TIdmag. I've lost touch with Tidmag, so if you know her, please ask her to contact me so we can organise getting her listed as a co-writer.

"Vernon!" Petunia Dursley said. Then more loudly, "Vernon!" Finally she looked over the banister and yelled down the stairs, "Vernon!" In the nursery behind her, Harry Potter started to cry.

"What?" Having stomped up the stairs, Vernon had to raise his voice to be heard over the noise the child was making.

"This...baby."

"What about him?" Vernon looked down, he seemed puzzled, as well he might be.

"He...it's a freak!"

"You said he was your sister's boy, we shouldn't be too surprised at that." Vernon was trying to be conciliatory, she could tell. "He's very noisy. Is the scar bothering him, do you think?"

"Come here!" Petunia could have picked the baby up, but she didn't want to touch him after what she'd found. Vernon lumbered round the table. "Look at that," she pointed.

"Isn't that normal?"

From his expression, she gathered that the look she gave him would have shattered glass. "Of course it's not normal. He'll have to go to hospital and have it put right," her voice was tight, pitched higher than usual.

"But...that'll mean doctors...days off to look after our poor Dudley while this one sees specialists. And what will we tell the neighbours?"

"We could take him to a private hospital. Get it done quickly and quietly."

"Oh, no! I'm not spending that kind of money on your sister's brat. I said that about the scar, too. I'm not paying for plastic surgery, and that Indian bloke down at the doctors said they wouldn't do it on the NHS. I bet...that...would be the same. He'll just have to grow up like it, like he will with the scar. He'll manage, it'll feel quite normal to him."

"I'm not having him sleep in Dudley's room. It might...contaminate...him." The baby had stopped crying, but was now making pathetic little hiccoughing noises. Petunia finally managed to force herself to handle the child enough to put a nappy on him and fasten it. "That horrible scar, and now this. Damn Lily, anyway. What are we going to do?"

"Could he sleep in the other bedroom?"

"I want that room. It's got my sewing things in it, and when Dudley's older he'll need it...for...for... well, for something. Clear out the cupboard under the stairs. He can sleep there." She fiddled with the tee shirt and little trousers, wondering how to get them on the boy while touching him as little as possible.

Vernon looked at the baby and then back at her. "Very well, my dear, if that's what you want." He lumbered out again, and she heard him dragging the vacuum cleaner out of the cupboard.

"Put it in the utility room, Vernon, do," she called. "You'll be much happier in the cupboard," she said to the baby. "It'll be a place of your own. Nice and dark, you'll sleep beautifully there."

The baby kicked his legs. He didn't understand her yet.

***

Harry came back to Privet Drive after his day in wizard London with Hagrid completely happy for once. That lasted until the door opened and he saw Uncle Vernon standing in the hall. He swallowed, but walked in anyway.

"What did you tell him?" Uncle Vernon asked.

"Nothing. There wasn't much he didn't know about me already."

"About you being a..." Uncle Vernon's voice lowered, "wizard, perhaps not. What about the other thing?"

"I didn't tell him. He didn't ask." Anyway, thought Harry, why would he mention that to someone he'd never met before, however nice? He'd never even told the school nurse.

"See that nobody finds out at this freak place you're going to."

"So I can go?" Harry seized on the good news, better than worrying about the rest of it.

"You might as well, better than having you here on your own while Dudley's away at school."

That aspect had been worrying Harry, too. "Yes," he agreed, hurriedly.

"Don't you forget. Nobody's to find out - you wouldn't want to get thrown out, would you?"

"No, Uncle Vernon."

***

As he looked down at the blood on his underpants; the only thing Harry could think was: better now than just after Quidditch practice. He felt around carefully under his penis and inserted the tips of his fingers into his vagina. There was blood all over his fingers when he withdrew. That was a relief; he wasn't having some unexplained haemorrhaging. He was surprised how calmly he was taking this. He remembered - vaguely - what they'd been told in second year sex education about the girls' monthly cycle. Even being the freak he was, it had never occurred to him that it might apply to him as well.

He rolled up a plug of toilet paper and stuffed it between his legs to stop the blood - not that he believed it would hold for long, but there wasn't anything else. He washed his hands and cleaned up after him, making sure there were no traces.

Back in the dormitory he pulled out the invisibility cloak and wrapped it around himself.

"Where are you going?" Ron whispered. "Shall I come, too?"

"No!" said Harry. Then to soften it he added, "I'm just going to the library to look something up."

"Must be pretty important," Ron pushed aside his blankets.

"Only to me. Ron, no! I'll be fine on my own."

"But..."

"Please?" Harry wasn't sure what he would do if he couldn't convince Ron to stay in the dormitory.

"If you're sure?" Ron still looked worried.

"Certain. I won't be long."

***

That had been a lie. It took Harry some time to find the information he needed - though he noted several books he would need to read properly at some time in the future - and to find a name for his condition. It was one he'd never seen before, and he tried it on the tongue.

"Hermaphrodite. I'm a hermaphrodite."

The dragging pain in his lower abdomen reminded him of the real reason he was here. He saw the book they'd used in sex education and pounced on it, thankfully. Somewhere... Then he found it, something that would stop the blood. He read down the potion recipe and sighed. If he could manage it.

Harry realized he would have to return to his dormitory to retrieve parchment and quill to write down the recipe. The library had wards to prevent theft, so he left the book on the table and crept to his school supplies. Harry paused as he left to look at Ron, safely asleep. He sighed; and went to the bathroom to replace the wad of toilet paper before returning to the library. He copied the information onto parchment.

He sneaked into the deserted workroom. The potion the fifth years were doing this week used the ingredients that Harry needed and they were in the student store. This was fortunate since Snape's personal stock had been impossible to break into since their fourth year.

At five in the morning, feeling sick from the effects of the potion, he dragged himself back to the dormitory and undressed. He hid his blood stained clothes at the bottom of the laundry pile, went to the bathroom and showered, then climbed into bed. He'd have to make that potion every month if he was to hide this from everyone. Every month for the whole of his fifth year. So, despite all the difficulties, he did.

***

Two phrases dominated his life while at Privet Drive. They were 'Yes, Aunt Petunia' and 'No, Aunt Petunia.' Today, the first day of the holidays, was no different, his aunt started with, "Finish the breakfast!"

Harry said, "Yes, Aunt Petunia."

He was careful not to sound insolent, that could gain him a swift blow to the head if she was holding something she could hit him with, and as usual the proximity of his period - due any day now - made him tired and irritable. He wondered, as he fried bacon for breakfast, if Aunt Petunia had the same problem. But then, she was a crabby old bag all the time so that didn't explain it.

As soon as breakfast was over, Aunt Petunia gave him something to do; his first job was to clean the windows, the insides anyway. He'd done this before and knew that if there were any smears or marks when she checked he could expect trouble - and she liked it done the old fashioned way, with dilute vinegar and newspaper. She said it kept away the insects. Harry doubted that any insect with a brain would dare come into 4 Privet Drive, but then most of them didn't have much of a brain if the ease of transfiguring them was anything to go by.

Cleaning windows took up about a third of his mind; it didn't stop him thinking. He rather wished it did, thoughts of men - one in particular - kept intruding and he forced his mind onto other things with an effort.

He'd made up a larger than usual batch of the potion that stopped the bleeding, he'd calculated he had three periods to get through before he went back to Hogwarts - there was something to be said for being predictable - but one bottle had leaked out all over his Quidditch robes. In any case, the book said it wasn't wise to take it every month but it didn't say why. He didn't have much choice now but to find some other solution to the problem, he was sure even Aunt Petunia would catch on if he bled all over the bedsheets.

He hid the remaining vials of potion and the books on what he still termed his 'condition' under the loose floorboard under the bed. The floorboard stuck up a bit with all the books, and he wished he could cast a concealing charm on it. Some he'd bought in Hogsmeade, but some were from the Hogwarts library, and he wondered if Madam Pince would notice which books he'd borrowed and guess his problem. This was more likely over the holidays, all the books should have been given back but he hadn't had time to read them all. He sighed, and moved on to the next window, the one in Dudley's room.

The Dursleys had relaxed their rules a little when they found out about Sirius, so the rest of his things, his homework and his books on Quidditch he could keep in his room on the narrow desk. With his things around he thought his room looked friendly and even welcoming compared with the rest of the house, and he didn't particularly envy Dudley. Harry picked his way through the empty pizza boxes, dirty mugs, discarded underwear and used plates towards the window. At least, he thought, my room is tidy and it doesn't smell like a dustbin. Dudley had only been home three days.

Harry tore off another sheet of newspaper, dipped it into the vinegar and water solution, and started at the top as Aunt Petunia had taught him. He heard Dudley come in, but ignored him.

"Freak," said Dudley. "Fucking freak."

Harry gritted his teeth and carried on cleaning. An early lesson had been don't rise to the bait. He'd learned it well.

***

"Can I go for a run?" Harry asked. It was lunchtime; Uncle Vernon, who would have refused out of hand, was at work and there was only Aunt Petunia and Dudley. He'd finished the windows but felt restless, desperate to get out of the house and breathe air that didn't smell of vinegar.

"The neighbours will see you," said Aunt Petunia.

"If I promise not to speak to anyone?"

He could almost see the gears moving in Aunt Petunia's mind. Finally she said, "Very well. Don't be too long."

"No, Aunt Petunia. Thank you."

It was very pleasant to be running along the lane on a warm, bright day. People smiled to see him go past, which was more than anyone did at home, and he could admire the gardens of the houses on Daffodil Road and Magnolia Crescent. He waved at Mrs Figg, and she waved back. Away from people he might know, he could even put his brain into neutral and simply be in a way that wasn't possible when he was stuck in the house with Dudley and his Aunt.

Having run as far as he dared, he sat on a log to get his breath back. He watched a spider build a web and envied her singleminded determination - he rather wanted to move in with her. Regretfully he stood, stretched his muscles, which had cramped a bit and ran back to Privet Drive, carefully not thinking about anything.

His period started that night and he took the potion only just in time to stop it again. His Aunt had expected him to wash and iron his own clothes almost since he'd started school so he didn't have to worry too much about staining those, but the sheets were a different issue. Aunt Petunia was very particular about her sheets; he couldn't take that risk next month. The idea of discussing - that - with her actually frightened him, he couldn't imagine what she'd say. He doubted it would be of any help.

His room was full of Dudley's books and these included one called "Growing up" by Louisa Jordansson. Harry was sure Dudley had never read it, Dudley never read anything, but he had, very carefully not breaking the spine or leaving finger marks. He checked back through it, Muggle girls had to deal with periods, so there had to be something. Yes, there was a description of how to insert tampons. It sounded a bit gross, but he supposed he could manage. But of course they'd cost money. Or he could use those other things, which sounded easier. They cost money, too.

He sighed - he seemed to do that a lot. He had money, but it was wizard money and it was at Gringotts.

***

Breakfast again. Harry cooked it; he was tempted to spit on Dudley's, who was being even more annoying than usual. What Dudley could possibly want with a skateboard was more than Harry could fathom since he never left the house unless it was to go to McDonalds or Burger King. Last time Dudley had been taken to the cinema - last year, as far as Harry knew - he'd claimed the film was 'too long' to sit through. Harry hadn't been included in the trip; he'd spent the evening with Mrs Figg in her cat-smelling living room listening to her talk about Mrs Epstein's piles and poor Mr Saunders' horrible death from cancer of the pancreas. Awful though that was, it was better than going to the cinema with Dudley.

Finally, Uncle Vernon said, "I'm not paying for a skateboard, it'll have to come out of your grandmother's trust fund."

Aunt Petunia frowned, "But the trust fund is for University."

"I don't want to go to University," said Dudley. "I want a skateboard."

"I'll write to the bank," said Uncle Vernon.

Harry stared, then looked down before Uncle Vernon noticed. Of course. He had Hedwig, he could write to Gringotts. Uncle Vernon had made him promise not to contact his friends, but one could hardly call a bank a friend.

"Can I have it now and I'll pay you back?" said Dudley.

"Absolutely not." Uncle Vernon took a slice of toast.

Dudley took a deep breath.

"I'll get it for you, Duddykins," said Aunt Petunia. She recognised the signs as well as Harry did, or better. "Will that be all right?"

Dudley let out the breath. Disaster was averted. "My room's a mess," he said.

Aunt Petunia turned to Harry. "Clean Dudley's room for him," she said.

Harry's reply was automatic. "Yes, Aunt Petunia."

***

The money came in five days; with it was a note from the cashier at Gringotts showing him what rate of exchange had been used. Harry had specified the amount he wanted in Muggle money - he discovered it didn't take as much wizard money as he'd thought it might. In theory he could now buy new glasses and new clothes, but there was no way that his Aunt and Uncle would let him go to Croydon - where the shops and opticians were - so that was a forlorn hope. Besides, the massive jeans and the folds of the sweatshirt made him feel less self-conscious - nobody would guess what he was with him dressed like that, he looked like a scarecrow.

His Aunt never went to the only shop in Little Whinging, she thought it 'common' because it was run by a little Pakistani gentleman called Mr Patel; she did her shopping at the Asda superstore on Bergmann Road, and in Marks and Spencer. She was careful that the neighbours saw only the M&S bags which Harry found very funny; the good thing about it was that it meant he could pop in to the local shop when he was out running without fear of running into her. Uncle Vernon sometimes went to Mr Patel to buy his Daily Mail, but as he didn't like 'wogs' as he called them, there was little chance he'd get into conversation, and Harry made sure he was never there when Uncle Vernon could possibly be around.

Food at 4 Privet Drive wasn't a problem, Aunt Petunia was a good cook to which the bulk of both Vernon and Dudley was mute testament, but Harry hated her choice of toothpaste and soap, his was always 'value', which meant the very cheapest possible. As a result, the toothpaste tasted like soap, and the soap brought his skin out in a rash. Also, while Dudley got all the sweets he wanted and though Harry wasn't much of a sweet eater - he'd never had the opportunity to develop a taste for Muggle sweets - he did like to suck mints while he was working on his homework.

The most important thing, though, and one he now had to buy was sanitary protection. Problem was, now he looked at the possibilities he hadn't a clue. He'd re-read Louisa Jordansson's book, but that didn't help with which brand to buy and he was running out of time. He looked at the shelves, trying not to be too obvious about it. "Can I help?" a voice behind him. A female voice. He turned round. She reminded him of Parvati Patil, which shouldn't have surprised him but did, and her namebadge read 'Meela'.

"I...my girlfriend's not feeling very well, she asked me to get some of these for her." Harry went scarlet.

"Did she say which brand?" Meela didn't look at all phased.

"I'm sorry, no."

"Do you know if it was pads or tampons?"

"Er...no. I can't remember."

"Oh. Can't you ask her?"

"It was urgent. She's run out."

"Oh, I see. You'll probably have to guess then, and come back if you're wrong. We'll change them if she hasn't opened the pack."

"Which would you suggest?"

"Well, to be honest, if she's not a tampon girl wild horses aren't going to get her to use them. The safest would probably be something like these." Meela pulled a squashy purple pack from the shelf. "She'll probably manage with these until she can get out and get her own. It's very good of you, you know. Not many boys would buy this sort of thing for their girlfriend. Not many men, either. If they're not what she wants, you should tell her so." Meela grinned at him, infectiously. "I wish you were my boyfriend."

He grinned back. "I'll tell her," he said.

"Or...you could buy both," she said. "Then you'd be sure you'd got at least something she can use."

"I'd better do that." Harry realised that if he bought both, he could experiment and he'd find out what suited him best. He added, "She'll be cross with me, otherwise." Meela smiled at him again, and he blushed.

***

The books, both library and bought, proved harder going than he'd expected. Most of them were medical texts, and he learned a lot about how the human body worked, most of it fascinating but some of it rather terrifying. Now he finally understood what Mrs Figg had been talking about when she'd described Mrs Epstein's piles, and it was far from welcome knowledge.

He was glad he'd been able to keep Hermione away from this stuff, she'd have sucked it up with the sponge-like facility she normally had for information, but he was sure she'd put two and two together very quickly and come up with at least four. He wished he could confide in her, but he didn't want anyone to know. He wished, more than anything, that he was like other boys. He didn't like having to get changed behind the curtains of his bed, he knew the other boys thought him weird for that alone, and he hated showering in the changing rooms, it was the only part of Quidditch he could do without. He sighed - again.

He turned to the one picture he'd been able to find of a hermaphrodite. It was a line drawing and unusually for a wizard book it didn't move, or not that he'd ever seen. All of the books were wizard books, even the ones on anatomy and physiology, and most of them mentioned hermaphrodites only in passing. It seemed that like parcelmouths, they were rare - rarer, so one said, in the wizard than in the Muggle world. So why did he have to be this weird rare creature? Couldn't he be normal in anything?

He'd left one book till last, not least because the flick through he'd had of it had made him wonder if he would be able to read it at all. For a start, it was old even for a wizard book, and in some odd typeface like the German books he'd seen in the Potions research section of the library when he was doing that dreadful homework on the variants of Stumbling Potions. Then when he managed to sort out the typeface, there was the language. The writer appeared to have dropped English altogether and adopted some peculiar mixture of allegory, allusion and metaphor. After a few hours, Harry felt the best thing to do with "Living Two Lives" was smell it. He might learn more that way.

One thing was clear. The writer, one Brinsley Meslier Meynell had been a hermaphrodite himself. Why in that case he had to couch everything quite such farmyard language was beyond Harry, it was all either stuff about stallions and mares, or about bees and flowers, or about Duty and Sacrifice. Harry felt distinctly intimidated by the capitals and he flicked forward in the book, hoping to find something a bit easier.

This was more like it. Or maybe it wasn't. He'd read on a few pages and was starting to feel a bit warm. Too warm. The physiology books had said that certain parts of the body were pleasurable when stimulated. Well, yes, Harry had thought. Tell me something I hadn't already realised for myself. "Growing Up" had talked about masturbation, had said it was normal and nothing to be worried about unless indulged in 'to excess'. That was all very well. But Meynell's book told him how to do it. In detail. To a body exactly like his. No pictures, but his mind supplied all the pictures he needed. He moaned, softly.

At that moment, Aunt Petunia yelled up the stairs, "Dinner! Now!" Harry sighed. His cock was hard, and he had a most peculiar liquid sensation between his legs. Like a period, but...nice. Oh, no. He was facing two hours of sitting on a dining chair in the Dursleys' cold dining room. He sat up and pulled his clothes straight, willing his erection to go away.

That was the pleasantest part of Meynell's book. The rest was either frightening or boring, with the emphasis mostly on the frightening. The descriptions of some of the uses of hermaphrodite blood in particular he was sure would give him nightmares. The least horrifying was a potion that changed someone's sex permanently, though quite why anyone would want it was beyond him. But then, as he thought further, he couldn't, could he? He had no opposite to change to.

Then there was the section on how Meynell's male genitalia had been reabsorbed into his body as his first pregnancy advanced, which made Harry sit with his legs crossed. And pregnancy? It had never occurred to him that he might be able to give birth. All but two of Meynell's children had been boys - the notes at the end of the book said that he'd had twelve who lived to adulthood. It didn't say how many didn't. Twelve children. Harry's stomach ached in sympathy. He read on a bit. Meynell had been 149 when he died. Wow. If he lived that long he'd be still alive in...2130.

The description of the conception, on the other hand, Harry rather enjoyed. So much so he kept turning back to it, it was almost as good as the masturbation bit. He was honestly horrified, though, at the person his mind kept picturing as what Meynell would keep referring to as 'my stallion', a description that made Harry giggle.

Apart from the sex, Harry was most interested in and most puzzled by those areas of the book concerned with magic. It explained so much - how he'd survived Voldemort, why he could do magic without a wand - but also left so much unsaid. The idea that he was a human wand who soaked up magic from his surroundings and threw it back was just so bizarre that he didn't know what to make of it. He'd never thought of his wand as an amplifier before, but now it was explained it was so obvious. But if it was an amplifier, so was he.

In fact as he read on, he wasn't just an amplifier, he was a superconductor - he'd read about them in one of Dudley's discarded books. According to Meynell, hermaphrodites took part in protection spells and other large magical workings and Meynell had been instrumental in the last spell which had been cast over Hogwarts, the spell which protected the staff and students from suicide, attack and sundry other nasties. Indeed, Meynell called this his 'greatest work', even though it had nearly killed him. He said that without him the spell would have taken the greatest wizards of his age twenty years to cast and cost all of them their lives. Reading about it, Harry believed him.

***

Harry's sixth year started out well; he was a prefect, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and at last seemed to have some sort of a grasp on his studies. Voldemort was peculiarly quiet, which rather worried him, but that was a more back-of-the-mind worry than an everyday worry. If it hadn't been for his condition and his unfortunate obsession with men's bodies, it would be perfect.

It was this last that troubled him the most, it was an at-least-once-an-hour worry. Hiding an emergency supply of sanitary protection from the other boys in his dormitory wasn't fun, though he was getting quite good at brewing the potion and he'd bought most of the ingredients in bulk at the beginning of the year. But it seemed that every time he saw the way Seamus sat or turned, the way Ron moved his head, the way Dean brushed his hair, even the way Neville used his hands, he blushed.

Worst of all was his response to some of the male teachers; not Binns or Flitwick, even his perverted little mind couldn't dig up any enthusiasm for them, but any other breathing male over 15 seemed to be grist to his mental mill. He'd even - thankfully only once - had a very strange dream about Professor Dumbledore which had left him unable to look at the teachers' table in the Great Hall for a week. None of the books he'd read made any mention of this and Harry started to wonder if his condition included insanity as a side effect.

***

The first night of the Easter holiday found him in a small workroom in the dungeon, brewing the potion. He'd been tempted to give it a miss and if he'd been alone would have done so, but the news that both Seamus and Neville were staying over the holidays stopped him. Neville probably wouldn't notice anything, he wasn't the type, but Seamus was naturally curious.

He lit a couple of lamps, got out his cauldron and made a start. By now he had a rhythm for making this potion; he knew exactly when to cut up the plane tree root and how small, and precisely how the mixture should look before he sprinkled in the dried willow leaves. He could even, when the potion was simmering, waiting for the blackberry seeds to soften, sit and read.

Feeling it should be almost ready, Harry looked up. He dropped his book in surprise. There was a figure in the doorway. It was Professor Snape.

"Potter," said Snape.

This was unnecessary in Harry's opinion. He knew who he was. He stood and waited.

Snape came fully into the room and strolled over to look at the bench and the ingredients. Harry's mouth was quite dry, though not from fear. Snape had been having this effect on him for some time, the smooth walk, the almost snakelike way he held his head and only moved his eyes, his graceful hands, had all drawn Harry's attention since first year, and since he turned fifteen there had been days when he could think of nothing else.

"I know what it is," said Snape. "What I don't quite understand is why you have a use for it. Granger is well able to make her own, and wouldn't need to do it at one in the morning."

Harry stared at the floor.

"You need to add the crushed locusts now, by the way," said Snape, after a very long pause.

Harry did so. He stirred the result smoothly and slowly in a figure of eight exactly as Snape had always taught them. Snape watched, and Harry gritted his teeth. He had made this potion - successfully - over twenty times now, but with Snape there his nerves were in shreds. He measured out the final ingredient, the dried camomile flowers, and added them.

"Slower," said Snape. "They're supposed to calm the girl, not knock her out."

Harry looked up at him. That would explain why Harry sometimes had trouble staying awake the day after taking it.

The mixture was ready, and Harry set it to strain through muslin into a fresh container. He wished Snape would go, but the man had settled himself against a bench as if he meant to take root. Harry washed his cauldron and all the equipment he had used. By the time he'd finished that, the mixture was ready and just needed to be boiled up once more before it could be bottled.

"Why does the container have to be hot?" Snape asked, suddenly.

"Because the recipe says it does," Harry replied, without thinking.

"Potter, you are a moron. Let me recast the question: why do you think the recipe says the container has to be hot?"

Harry frowned. "You might not be using it immediately. This potion keeps for three months and you need to sterilise the bottle or things might grow in it."

"And?"

"If you pour a very hot liquid into a cold glass it might shatter?"

"Any other guesses?"

"It seals the ingredients."

"Quite good for two thirty in the morning." Snape sounded almost approving.

"If I'd known I was going to get an impromptu exam I'd have done some revision."

"Don't be insolent, Potter, you're skating very close to the line already. Do you make this every month?"

Harry had a feeling that lying wasn't going to get him very far this time. "Yes," he said.

"I thought so. I heard you leave last month." Snape took a turn round the room. "It is not actually against the rules for you to make this, but I will not have you brewing potentially dangerous elixirs in the dead of night."

"But..."

"Your girlfriend - whoever she is - may just be stupid enough to trust you, but I'm not. Next month you'll do this in my workroom where I can be sure you're not poisoning anyone. I just hope she's suitably grateful."

"Yes, sir."

"And Potter?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Five points from Gryffindor. For being such a complete prat."

"Yes, sir."

***

All month he considered whether to disobey. But he had more than a feeling that Snape would be on his guard for any attempt of that nature. So, a few days before he would need the potion he stayed behind after class and approached Snape's desk. Once again he was taken by the unconscious grace of the man's movements.

"Yes?" Snape broke into his reverie.

"Sir, I need Impediere Infans. You said..."

"I remember what I said. When?"

"By next Tuesday." At least, Harry hoped so. But then, he was predictable.

"Be back here on Sunday evening, after dinner."

"Thank you, Professor."

***

Harry found it was very much easier to make Impediere Infans in a properly lit room; even measuring the ingredients was easier. This advantage, however, was largely negated by Snape's batlike presence. He stood over Harry, watching him measure and chop slugs as if expecting him to cut his own fingers off.

"For whom are you making this?" asked Snape.

Harry looked up. Snape had sounded as if someone was pulling his teeth out, and Harry supposed it wasn't usual for him to ask students that kind of question.

"This is a school," Snape pointed out. "Another name for it would be 'gossip factory', and you are our resident celebrity. If Harry Potter were seeing someone it would be all over the school like acne."

Harry picked up another slug, and cut it into unnecessarily small pieces.

Snape said, "The only other reason is so absurd I almost dismissed it out of hand."

Harry threw the slug into the pot and steadfastly looked down.

Snape went on, "You're a hermaphrodite."

"Yes." Harry answered the unasked question. "I suppose you'll tell the Slytherins tomorrow."

"Why would I do that?"

"Lupin."

"Touché," said Snape. "I admit it, that was petty and vindictive."

"Yes, it was." Harry felt at this stage that he might as well be expelled for a sheep as a lamb.

"But you're not a danger to the school or anyone in it. At least..." Uncharacteristically, Snape trailed off. "I'm the only person who knows?"

"Yes."

"Keep it that way. Among the students, anyway."

"As if I want anyone to find out."

Snape looked down, his head on one side as if considering something wriggling under glass.

Harry flushed. "It's not something I'm proud of, but I can't do anything about it." He stirred the cauldron slowly.

"I see," said Snape.

He sounded as if he understood more than Harry did, but Harry wasn't sure how to ask what he meant. Harry said, "You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"I should."

Harry looked Snape in the eye. "I don't want anyone to know," he said.

"Nobody?" Snape looked shocked.

"Nobody," replied Harry.

Snape was silent for a moment. He said, "Then I won't say anything. But...you should tell Madam Pomfrey - she can help you. Better than I can, in fact. Or Professor Dumbledore." He stopped, then added, "I can see I'm wasting my breath."

***

Whenever he was around Snape, Harry was aware of that peculiar liquid feeling between his legs. He could just about control his erection - thinking of Uncle Vernon invariably got rid of that problem - but the other kind of arousal was slower to build up and much slower to dissipate. It would have helped if he could find a quiet corner to touch himself, but in a school, even one like Hogwarts, that was difficult.

Harry kept on finding Hermione and Ron snogging in odd corners, so clearly they were in a similar position if for a different reason. He was very tempted to ask Ron if they'd found somewhere he could use, but he didn't quite have the nerve. It didn't help that watching them turned him on, and he didn't want to admit that, either.

In fact, his interest in men had narrowed to one; watching Snape was becoming an obsession. While this was a relief in some ways, it made potions lessons the most important of his week and also a torture akin to something thought up by Torquemada. He squirmed through double potions every Tuesday; he was unable to get comfortable on the hard benches and he took notes that made no sense because Snape's honey and razor blades voice made it impossible for him to concentrate. He wondered if Hermione had endured this over Lockhart. He wished now that he'd been more sympathetic.

Harry looked at his Potions essay, dissatisfied. He'd run out of time and he'd have to hand this in or it would be late. He rolled it up and headed for the dungeons.

Seeing a light under the workroom door, Harry knocked, and then pushed the door open. Snape looked up from whatever he was doing.

Harry went in. "I brought you my homework," he said.

"Thank you, Potter," said Snape. "I was on the edge of my seat. I couldn't have lived for another minute without seeing your homework."

Harry interpreted that as a joke - of sorts - and smiled. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Marking first year essays. Not that it's any business of yours."

"Sorry. I'm just...interested."

"Oh."

Harry noticed that Snape seemed surprised. It was not a look he'd seen often and for some reason that gave him courage. He put his bag down, went over to the bench and rested against the edge.

"I don't remember inviting you in." Snape put his quill down.

"You didn't," said Harry. He leaned forward and quite deliberately kissed Snape on the mouth. He'd done it before he remembered that he didn't quite know how.

His lack of expertise didn't seem to bother Snape, who kissed him back. Harry opened his mouth - he'd seen Hermione and Ron enough times now to know that tongues were involved somewhere. Snape tasted of tea and something sweet, Harry supposed that must be what he'd last eaten and drunk.

"I shouldn't do this," Snape murmured against Harry's lips.

Harry waved a hand behind him and the door closed and locked. Snape looked momentarily impressed before he returned to his exploration of Harry's mouth.

"I'm surprised I remember how," Snape said, somewhat indistinctly.

"How long has it been?" Harry was curious.

Snape frowned slightly, "Twenty years? About that, I think."

"Do you want me?" Harry asked.

Snape gave him a peculiar half smile. "I am completely unworthy of someone like you. Not," he added, "that there is anyone quite like you."

"That isn't what I asked," Harry reached for the buttons on Snape's jacket. "I want to know if you want me. Because I want you."

Snape didn't answer, but he didn't stop Harry unbuttoning his jacket or pushing it off his shoulders, and nor did he prevent him from unbuttoning the white shirt underneath.

With Snape's nipples exposed, Harry kissed them then touched his tongue to one and heard a moan. He remembered reading about this in Meynell's book, and was pleased it worked in real life.

"I should be...pleasing...you," said Snape, throatily.

"You are," said Harry. "But you could take my clothes off."

Snape was still for a moment, and then he pushed the robe off Harry's shoulders and reached for the pullover.

A man, naked, wanting him; Snape looked rather tousled from Harry's hurried undressing of him. Harry almost drooled, he had to swallow somewhat hurriedly to hide it and he was so wet between the legs that he was surprised he wasn't dripping. Harry pressed against Snape, kissing him again hungrily.

Snape said, "Are you sure?" He sounded almost as hoarse as Lupin.

"Yes," moaned Harry. "Yes. Yes, please..." Snape pushed Harry back to lie across the bench, and Harry looked up at Snape's face. His expression was...desperate...and Harry smiled to have caused that.

Harry opened his legs and Snape ran his hand up the inside of his right thigh. Harry sighed, and bit his lip. "Oh! More!" He closed his eyes, and felt one of Snape's hands take hold of his cock. The other reached between his legs.

"Tell me if I hurt you," Snape's voice was soft and still hoarse.

Harry nodded once, and opened his legs a bit more. Snape's hand pumped Harry's cock slowly and Harry felt the other touch his clitoris. "Harder!" said Harry, squirming to press himself against those fingers. Snape obeyed, and Harry dug his fingernails into the bench. "In me. Now," gasped Harry.

"Are you quite sure?"

"Yes!"

Snape's fingers moved lower. Harry felt them, then something else, something warmer and wider, slide partway into him. It pulled out slowly and he moaned, helplessly. It slid back and he sighed. "That's what I want," said Harry. "That's what I've wanted for a year." It was a strange feeling, but it fulfilled him.

Snape started to thrust, finding a rhythm quickly. Acting on instinct, Harry closed his legs slightly to keep his clitoris pressed against Snape. The orgasm in his cock came first, the other, the curious swallow inside him followed almost immediately. It took longer, as it always seemed to.

He opened his eyes as Snape pulled out of him, and saw Snape's astonished look.

"What?" said Harry. He wondered if he'd done something wrong.

"You were a virgin."

"Er...yes," said Harry, puzzled.

"I wouldn't have touched you if I'd known."

Harry sat up slowly, his muscles seemed to have fixed in place. "Good thing I didn't tell you then."

"You should not have given...that...to someone like me."

Harry ignored that remark. "Next time," he said, "can we do it on a bed? That bench is hard."

"There won't be a next time."

Harry went cold. "Didn't you like it?"

"That's irrelevant." Snape's voice was softer. "I shouldn't have done it; there's no way I'm going to do it again."

"But you did like it?" Harry knew he sounded like a child asking to be told that the bogeyman was out from under his bed.

"You were... Yes, I enjoyed it. But I should not have done it." Snape sat, still naked, on the chair. He reached for his shirt. "Get dressed, Potter."

"Is it that I'm ugly?" Harry didn't move.

"You're not ugly."

Harry bit his lip, aware that Snape was staring at him. He swallowed, ruthlessly suppressing tears. "I am. They've always said so."

"Who have?"

Harry shook his head, and reached for his clothes. Snape was still looking at him and Harry wished he'd look away. He dressed, then tried to brush the dust from his robe. He turned to go.

Suddenly he felt Snape's hand on his arm, and looked up into black eyes. Snape slid both arms round his waist, and kissed him. Desperately, Harry kissed back. Snape said, "You're not ugly, Potter. Whoever told you that was lying." He let go.

"It's very kind of you to try to make me feel better," said Harry. He picked up his bag and went out.

To Harry's intense gratitude, Snape's determination not to touch him again lasted only until he arrived in the workroom to make the Impediere Infans potion. And this time he did take Harry to his rooms.

***

A warm night in early June, extraordinarily warm for the time of year. Harry thought that was why he couldn't sleep, at least until the pain hit him. It had all the geniality of a tidal wave, and Harry clapped one hand to his forehead. With the other hand over his mouth he just managed to make it to the bathroom before he was violently and spectacularly sick. It helped the pain, but only marginally. Harry had time to wipe his nose and mouth before another bout of sickness took him.

There was a noise behind him and he turned to see Ron. "I'll get Madam Pomfrey," Ron said.

Harry nodded, he couldn't speak, and turned back to the toilet and vomited again.

Madam Pomfrey wasn't long. "Is it the same as before?" she asked.

"Yes," whispered Harry. "The pain in the scar and...this."

"He Who Must Not Be Named must be having a fine old time," she said. She helped Harry stand, and put an arm around him. "I think you'll be better off in the hospital wing for the rest of the night."

"Thanks," said Harry.

He still felt shaky next day, and though he protested that it was pathetic for a man of sixteen to be laid low by a sick headache Madam Pomfrey decided he wasn't well enough to go to breakfast. He was sitting up in bed, still irritated, when Ron and Hermione arrived.

"Mints," said Hermione. She dropped two packs on the bedside table. "Ron told me what happened. Was it him, do you think? Or did you just eat something that disagreed with you?"

"The scar hurt, I think it was him. Thanks for the mints; how is it that when you're sick vomit goes up your nose? I can still taste it."

"It's all connected up back there," said Hermione. "The back of your throat and your nose are all linked by..."

"I don't want to know," said Ron. Harry grinned; Ron could get a bit squeamish.

"Snape wasn't at breakfast," said Hermione. "And he wasn't at dinner last night, did you notice?"

Harry had noticed.

"Doing something foul, I should imagine," said Ron. "Hey, Harry, next Hogsmeade weekend we don't we set up Crabbe and Goyle? I've got an idea..."

"Harry can't play tricks," Hermione sounded scandalised. "He's a prefect!"

"What difference does that make?"

Harry smiled. Ron and Hermione had this exchange about twice a week. "What's the plan?" he asked.

***

Snape was away two weeks, not unprecedented but unusual. The first double potions lesson he was back Harry watched him dreamily, paying very little attention to the lesson. As a result, he wasn't too surprised when Snape said, "Stay behind, Potter."

Harry collected up his books and stowed them in his bag while the other sixth years filed out.

Far too close, Snape's voice came from behind him, "Do you have any objections to missing dinner?"

Harry turned so fast he nearly cricked his neck. "No." Missing dinner meant sex, Snape's body on - in - his. Harry's mouth went dry.

"Good."

***

It was afterwards the trouble started. Even just after he'd said it Harry knew he should have kept his mouth firmly closed on those three fateful words.

Snape gave him an appalled look, "You can't."

"But I do." Nobody had ever called Harry Potter anything less than stubborn.

"You can't. I'm not suitable for you." Snape sighed. "In fact, you don't know how very unsuitable I am."

Harry frowned. Snape had said odd things like this a couple of times before. "Are you saying you don't love me?" he asked.

"If it makes it easier for you." Snape sat up, the movement abrupt. "Perhaps it would be better if this...whatever it is...stopped now."

"You can't mean that!" Harry felt as if he'd been hit by an avalanche - shocked and cold.

"I... I do mean it. Please go."

Harry took a deep breath and got out of bed. He dressed in silence willing himself to stay calm. At last, he was ready. He said, "Do you really mean you..."

"I don't love you. Now, go."

Empty and expressionless, Harry climbed the many stairs to the Gryffindor tower. There might have been people in the common room, but he didn't notice. He was alone in the boys' dormitory, thankfully, and he undressed again and put on his pyjamas. He didn't think he'd be getting up again today. He considered just closing the curtains, but that didn't keep everyone out, Ron had been known to fling them back if he got enthusiastic over something.

After a moment's thought, he pulled the invisibility cloak out of his trunk, wrapped it around himself, and lay down. What a total bastard. Harry wished he were stronger; crying only made him feel even more humiliated and wretched, and gave him a headache as well. At last, worn out, he went to sleep.

***

Harry climbed on board the Hogwarts Express at Kings Cross at the beginning of his seventh year, feeling surprisingly well. He remembered the shock of the journey down only two months ago, the sudden horror that had struck him on realising he'd missed his period. His worst fear had proved founded - he was pregnant. How he still wasn't sure - apart from the obvious - as Impediere Infans was supposed to prevent that kind of thing, but he was.

He found Ron and Hermione in their usual compartment at the end of the train, snogging. He waited at the door until they noticed him, watching them pull apart like someone undoing a button very slowly. He smiled.

"Harry!" said Ron. He smoothed his hair, as far as he could. "You look...different."

"Different?" said Harry.

"You're not as thin as usual," said Ron. "I know you told us you didn't spend summer with the Dursleys but I wasn't expecting it to make such a difference."

"I suppose not," said Harry. His pregnancy couldn't be showing yet, the moment of panic had been entirely misplaced.

"So, where was this place?"

"Cornwall. I took a cottage for the summer..."

"How?" asked Ron, quite reasonably.

"Oh, that was fun. I used that Illusion charm - the one Flitwick told us we could practise over the summer - to make me look older. It worked, I was really surprised. The man in the estate agents didn't ask any questions. Mind you, that could also have been because I paid up front for three months."

Ron laughed, "I used it to turn Percy's quills into daffodils," said Ron. "He got really pissed off with Fred and George, he thought it was them. Percy can be such a prick."

Hermione laughed, but she said, "I said you shouldn't. Fred and George were quite hurt. So what was this cottage like?"

"Small," said Harry. "Right next to the sea, I swam almost every day. I learned to cook, or at least put stuff from the supermarket in the oven and not poison myself. I met some people who ran an art gallery and did some painting. It was fun."

"Didn't the Dursleys mind?" Hermione asked.

"Mind? You've never seen such a happy man as when I told Uncle Vernon I wasn't going to be spending summer with them. He said they'd finally be able to make that trip to Iowa to see his cousin, the one that they've been promising Dudley since he was two."

"Was it really so bad with them that you had to go off on your own for all that time?" said Hermione. "I had a really funny letter from Professor Dumbledore about it."

"You can't imagine," said Harry.

"I can't see my Mum letting me stay anywhere on my own," said Ron. "She'd be convinced I'd have a drunken party."

"You would," commented Hermione. "You and your brothers would get smashed on vodka and be ill for a week. Harry's got more brains than that." She smiled at him.

Harry was glad she couldn't read his mind. He was not about to tell anyone about the night he'd drunk most of a bottle of gin as an experiment, or about the following three days in which he'd wished - fervently - for death to take him.

There was a noise at the door of their compartment and Draco Malfoy came in. Behind him, as always, were Crabbe and Goyle looking more than ever like boulders only not as intelligent. Harry produced his wand, but held it loosely in his hand.

"Well, Potter," said Malfoy in his trademark drawl. "For once you don't look as if you spent the summer in an internment camp. What happened? Those Muggles you live with learn to cook?"

"Fuck off, Malfoy," said Ron.

"Call that wit, Weasley?"

"No," said Ron. "It was an instruction. As in: we don't want you here so get lost."

Though talking to Ron, Malfoy was staring at Harry. Harry didn't much like the expression on his face but couldn't place it.

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged identical looks of evil and raised their wands. Harry was ready, and as they cast their spells, he responded. Behind him, he felt Ron and Hermione do the same. At once, Crabbe bounced up and caught his head on the top of the door. He let out a howl, which was repeated a second later when he hit the floor, and again when he hit the ceiling of the corridor.

Meanwhile, Malfoy collapsed to his knees, and Goyle fell backwards as if made of stone and fur grew over his face and hands.

"Potter!" said Malfoy.

"Not my hex," said Harry. "Mine was Furball."

Ron, who had turned a splendid shade of dark purple with black marbling, glanced down at Malfoy. He said, "Lead Knees was mine. It'll wear off in an hour or so."

Malfoy crawled to the compartment door; Harry and Ron carried Goyle outside and dropped him. "I won't forget this, Potter," said Malfoy.

"That's what you always say," said Harry. "Your diary must be one long moan about me." He closed the compartment door and locked it.

He and Ron turned to Hermione, whose eyebrows were growing down over her face at speed. They grinned at each other. Hermione parted the hair and laughed up at them, "Come on! I can't stay like this forever. My word, Ron, what is that colour?"

"I like the hair," said Ron, thoughtfully. "It's attractive in a yeti sort of a way. We should keep it."

"What did Harry get?" she turned to him. "Oh, they missed you."

"Looks like it," said Harry.

"He cast a really spectacular Furball, though," Ron sniggered. "Goyle looks like a bear." He pointed his wand at Hermione, "Finate Incantatem!" Nothing happened and he sighed. "You try," he said to Harry.

"OK," said Harry. "Invertere Incantatem!" Hermione's eyebrows were instantly back to normal.

"Isn't that supposed to take time?" Ron asked. He looked stunned.

"Er...yeah," said Harry, equally astonished. "I think so."

"You must have really hated those eyebrows," said Hermione. "Wish I'd seen that Furball."

"He's still outside the door," said Ron. "Take a look." He pointed his wand at himself. "Finate Incantatem!" At once he was back to his usual pink and freckles.

Hermione crossed the compartment to the door, and looked down. "Are you sure that was Furball?" she said. "He seems to be moulting. And who cast Petrificus?"

"Your bouncer was pretty good, too," said Ron. "Cracked Crabbe's head on the ceiling. Wish I had a picture, I mean, his face..."

"Who cast Petrificus?" Hermione raised her voice.

"Not me," said Ron.

"Nor me," said Harry.

Hermione looked out of the window again, "Well, somebody did." She turned back. "And Harry? I'd watch yourself. Draco Malfoy fancies you."

"Urgh!" said Ron. Harry could have said the same, 'Urgh' about covered it.

***

"The Headmaster wants to see you, Potter," Snape said. Harry was standing outside the Great Hall with Ron and Dean talking Quidditch. They both looked a bit surprised, but Harry shrugged and followed Snape.

"Professor McGonagall is busy with the first years," said Snape, as they walked through the empty corridors. Harry had been wondering where she was; as his head of house it would normally be she who would come and fetch him.

They stopped outside the gargoyle, and Snape said, "Acid drops." In the moment he took to step away Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that Snape had been looking at his bottom. He twitched his robe to cover it more securely.

The moving staircase deposited him just outside the Headmaster's door, and he knocked.

"Come in, Harry. Please, sit down."

Harry did so, and noticed that Professor Dumbledore looked unusually serious. He was aware of a distinct sinking feeling. "Thank you, sir."

"First things first. Why did you leave the Dursleys?"

Harry swallowed, "I... I have confession to make, something I should have told you a long time ago."

"I would prefer an answer to my question."

"I know, sir. This is part of the answer."

"Go on."

"I've never told anyone this, only one other person at Hogwarts knows and he guessed. Sir, I'm a hermaphrodite." Harry had been staring at the carpet, but now he looked up. He'd been expecting disgust, horror. What he saw was shock...but also understanding.

"That explains a great deal," said Dumbledore. "But I still don't see why you felt it necessary to disobey me."

"Partly, I wanted to be alone," Harry said, realising it was true. "But partly I...couldn't stay there knowing the Ministry would be watching. Sometimes...some of the magic I do is spontaneous. I can't help it, it just happens. Especially since..." he stopped.

"Since what?" Dumbledore prompted.

"Since I got pregnant."

"I see."

Harry watched Dumbledore sit down, then lean back and stare at the ceiling. Harry said, "Are you going to expel me? I'd like to take my NEWTs despite this -"

"No! No, my boy. My child, I should say. There's no question of that." He sighed. "I do wish you had told me about this sooner. I suppose you know that you are the rarest of all wizards?"

"Yes," Harry bit his lip.

"And that with you Voldemort could rule the world?"

"Or you could use me to defeat him," Harry interrupted, though he didn't look up. "Sometimes, I don't know which is worse. Is nothing what it seems? All I am, to anyone, is a tool to get what they want. The Dursleys only kept me for the money you sent them - I've known about that since third year. Voldemort wants to kill me, or make use of me. You want to make use of me. The only person who seems to want me for myself is Sirius and I can't go to him because he's a wanted criminal and I never know where he is."

"Harry. Harry, you are not just a tool. Not to anyone," said Dumbledore, "except possibly Voldemort. You are loved, never doubt that."

Somehow, Harry didn't believe him. "You left me with people who hated me and still do. Everywhere in the wizard world is tainted by hate for Voldemort. Until this summer I'd never known what it was like to live without hate, or even guessed what it might be like."

"I'm sorry you feel I betrayed you. Hindsight is a wonderful thing and there are a great many things I wish I'd done differently. But Harry, had I known what you are, there are things I would have done differently because I would have had to." Dumbledore smiled. "Some of that we can put right - but I'm not sure you'll appreciate all of it." He crossed to the fireplace and dropped a pinch of powder into the grate. At once there was a fire, and he called, "Professor McGonagall?"

A few seconds later she arrived, spinning very quickly in the fireplace. She stepped out and shook the soot and Floo powder off her robes, "Professor Dumbledore?"

"Harry has given me some rather...surprising...news. Harry, may I tell her?"

Harry nodded. He imagined Dumbledore would anyway when he was gone.

"He's a hermaphrodite."

McGonagall sat down. "Oh my... Why didn't you mention this before, Potter?"

Harry didn't answer. Dumbledore went on, "And he's pregnant."

"That's only to be expected," said McGonagall. "He's had entirely the wrong kind of training, and he's spent the last six years in a dormitory with four boys. Who was it, Harry?"

Harry stared at her in total confusion. "What?" he said, after a long pause.

"The father of your child. Who is it? You've nothing to be afraid of, it wasn't your fault."

Harry had a sudden vision of Snape getting the sack. "It wasn't any of the boys in my dormitory," he said. "Beyond that, I'm not prepared to say."

"Why not?" Dumbledore's voice was kind but firm.

"I don't want to ruin his life." There would have been some satisfaction in getting revenge but Harry knew he would feel petty and spiteful.

"I don't think you understand -" began McGonagall.

She was interrupted. "If Harry doesn't want to tell us he doesn't have to," said Dumbledore. "Now, Minerva, could ask the house elves to prepare a suitable room for him? Thank you."

She stood up and left through the fireplace.

"Now, Harry. There are a few things you should understand. You are, as I said, a very powerful wizard."

"Yes," said Harry. Somehow that should have been good news, but it really wasn't. Fawkes the phoenix flew down and stood on the arm of Harry's chair. After a moment, it hopped onto his lap and put its head on his stomach. Rather surprised, Harry sat back. The phoenix closed its eyes, apparently in bliss.

"You will find as your pregnancy progresses that your control over your power is somewhat...erratic. As you did when you were a baby you will reflect all spells, but particularly attacks, back on the caster - I am sure now that I understand what happened to Voldemort. The spell he cast increased in power when it was reflected back, and rather than simply killing Voldemort you annihilated him." Dumbledore smiled whimsically. "As you're pregnant, this effect is projected around you for about twenty five feet. As I'm sure you will realise, this makes you something of a liability in a classroom. I will arrange for you to have individual tuition in every subject which involves spell casting."

"But that's..."

"Every subject except Astronomy, History of Magic, Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. I'm sorry, Harry. You will see a good deal more of your teachers than you will of your friends this year." Dumbledore sighed, "Did you notice anything about your studies last year?"

"They were easier than they've ever been, and I could do some spells without a wand."

"You are beginning to come into your full power - that's normal for hermaphrodites, it seems to be connected to the process of growing up. If it helps, it seems to be similar in werewolves, I noticed it in Remus Lupin." He smiled. "I'm beginning to get thirsty, and I'm sure you are." He tapped his wand on the desk and a tray of tea and sweets appeared. Dumbledore floated a cup across to Harry, who took it without disturbing Fawkes.

Dumbledore took a sip of his tea before going on, "I need to talk to you about your...personal life."

"He's dumped me," said Harry. Fawkes spread out across him and put its head on Harry's shoulder.

"Who has?"

"The man who... The father of my baby."

Dumbledore thought for a moment, then said, "Babies. Harry, you're having twins."

Harry had just put his cup down, which was the only thing that saved it. "Twins!"

"Yes, indeed. A boy and a girl. That is interesting, not many hermaphrodites have ever carried girls. And twins are unusual, too."

"Is that what you wanted to tell me? About my personal life?"

"No. No, it wasn't." Dumbledore took another sip of tea. "I should warn you, this man whom you refuse to name...it was here at Hogwarts, wasn't it?"

"Yes. End of last term."

"I thought so, I noticed you looked rather down in the mouth. This man...it is likely that he's the one you have chosen to commit to."

"What? But I told you, he's...he doesn't want anything to do with me. Does that mean I can't find anyone else?"

"No...but it won't be easy. Are you quite sure? It may be worth talking to him - he realised what you were?"

"He could hardly miss it. Sex is...intimate, after all."

Dumbledore smiled, "My dear child, of course it is. But it may still be worth talking to him."

"I don't see the point." Belatedly Harry added, "Sorry," when he remembered who he was talking to.

"I merely meant that very often with hermaphrodites the first choice is the best one, the one which was meant to be."

"You wouldn't think that if you knew who it was," Harry wished he'd kept his mouth shut as Dumbledore gave him his most piercing gaze. "Sorry," he said, again.

"There is one other thing," said Dumbledore. "And I must ask you to give me your word."

"What?"

"You must not leave the school grounds."

"Why?"

"For your children's sake and your own. This news...by its very nature news like this will not stay secret for long. I know you're using a concealing charm, but this is a school of witchcraft and wizardry. In addition, certain people will have to be told - before it gets into the newspapers. This is a very complicated situation, far more than you know. I'd rather not add to that complexity."

"Very well, you have my word. Besides," added Harry, "when everyone does find out they'll just think I'm being punished for allowing myself to get pregnant."

Dumbledore smiled at him, and his eyes twinkled, "Yes, the Muggle born students will probably think that, at least to begin with."

***

"Harry! Where have you been, mate?" Ron called out to him from the Gryffindor table.

Harry helped himself to breakfast and joined him. "I've... I've been given a room on my own," he said.

"Is it that being sick with You Know Who thing?" asked Ron. "Because if it is, we're all used to it now. Or as used to it as you can ever get with something like that."

"It's not that," Harry started to eat, wondering how long he'd keep it down now Ron had reminded him. "I..." He paused to cut up a piece of bacon. "There's something I need to tell you and Hermione."

"Go on," said Ron.

"I can't talk about it here. It's a...a private thing."

"Oh."

"Do you know the portrait of the woman in the blue crinoline with the fat dog on the fourth floor corridor?"

"Near the Muggle Studies classroom?"

"That's the one," said Harry. "Meet me there, both of you."

"When?" asked Hermione. She reached into her bag for her timetable. "We're free between three and four."

Harry took his out. "I'm not."

She looked across, "Yours is different."

"I've got half of the lessons on my own."

"Lucky you, how did you manage that?"

"It's part of the same thing." Harry didn't think it was lucky at all. "How about after five?"

"It'll have to be," said Hermione. "I can't see any other spaces."

Harry looked at Hermione's hand, currently holding her timetable, "Since when have you taken to wearing jewellery?"

"We've got some news, too." Hermione blushed.

He smiled at her, "I think I can guess. Congratulations."

"Thanks...Harry I think Snape wants to talk to you. What have you done to piss him off so soon?"

"Nothing...at least..."

"I was only joking. Even you couldn't have annoyed him that quickly. But he is looking at you as if he wants a word."

"He can wait," said Harry. Forever, he thought.

***

It was a dark day outside, and the dungeon looked even darker than usual. Snape's eyes glittered from across the room and Harry almost didn't go in.

"We'll be covering potions relating to changes of shape," said Snape.

Harry put his bag down on the bench. "I thought you wanted to talk to me," he said. "That's what you said when you nearly hammered my door down."

"I do. We can do that when we've got started on the actual reason we're here. Turn to page twenty-five in the text."

Harry stared at him.

"Get on with it, Potter. We haven't got all day."

"Just seems like it," muttered Harry under his breath. He opened the book as Snape gave him his most poisonous look. "You want me to make this?" Harry asked.

"No, I want you to tap dance on the desk. Of course I want you to make it." There was a pause. "Now would be a good time."

Harry fetched the ingredients, measured them out and put his cauldron on to boil. He started to grind lacewings in a mortar. "What did you want to say to me?" he asked.

"What we did...what I did to you...was a mistake."

"Go on." Harry put down the pestle in case he was tempted to use it as a weapon.

"It should never have happened. But as it did, I need to know what you expect of me."

"I don't expect anything of you," said Harry. "You've made it very clear you don't want anything to do with me; I assume that extends to my children. I've accepted that," Harry wasn't sure this was true but he said it anyway, "and I'm prepared to bring them up alone."

Snape stared at him. "You're mad," he said. "Apart from any other consideration you've completely forgotten Voldemort."

Harry banged the jar containing koala bear spleen on the desk and saw Snape wince. "What about him?"

"He is going to guess. For a start there's the problem that you're not attending your normal lessons. Malfoy is bound to have noticed already and be sniffing around for the reason. There's probably an owl winging its way to his father even as we speak." Snape's voice softened slightly. "Children are a... They can be exploited, as Voldemort exploited you to get to your parents."

"What do you mean?"

"Without you they could have run. With you they were tied down."

Harry was so angry he could hardly breathe. "That's a low blow even for you."

Snape came round the desk and stood beside him. "I have to make it clear what you're risking in doing this alone," Snape said.

Harry couldn't suppress the tingle that having Snape near caused him, but it didn't cloud his mind. "What do you mean? Do you want me or don't you? Or do you want me to get rid of them?"

"No! No, I don't want that. And even if I did... That's not the point at all."

"So what is the point?"

"You know I work for Professor Dumbledore not just here but also as a spy among the Death Eaters?"

"I'd guessed."

"An affair... I could hide a relationship with you if you were a boy. And if Voldemort found out he would probably find it more amusing than anything else. But you're not a boy; you're an important - pivotal - magical object. If Malfoy gets to Voldemort with this news before I do Voldemort will kill me. And I don't mean kill me the way Ron does, I mean I'll be really very dead. If it were just a question of my life it wouldn't matter. But we don't have another spy."

"You'd tell Voldemort about me? You'd do that to someone who's having your children?" "I don't want to. But I may have to."

"And if Voldemort finds me he'll kill me. When he's used me for whatever it is he wants me for." No wonder, thought Harry, that Dumbledore doesn't want me to leave the school grounds.

"Kill you? I doubt it, not once he knows what you are."

"Ah," said Harry, drily. "The fate worse than death." He looked down at the forgotten potion. "I have always wondered exactly what that is."

***

"Harry!" Ron looked round the room. "How did you get this?" Hermione didn't say anything, but she too looked astonished. "Great furniture," Ron threw himself on one of the two sofas, and put his feet up.

"Where do you sleep?" Hermione had been looking round.

"Through here." Harry led them into the bedroom. This was dominated by a large four-poster bed with gold curtains. "Gaudy, isn't it?"

"Yeah," said Ron. His gaze took in the pale carpet and cream bed linen. "Don't get your dirty Quidditch robes over it or you'll be forever getting the mud out."

"Where do you..." started Hermione.

"There's a bathroom," said Harry. "It's through there."

She opened the door and looked inside. "Not as big as the prefects' bathroom," she said.

"But pretty big," said Ron. "D'you think they'd give me a room of my own if I asked?"

"I don't think so," said Hermione. "Harry, what's this all for?"

"Let's sit down and I'll try and explain." He waited until they were all back in the sitting room. He took a deep breath. "Hermione...what do you know about...um...hermaphrodites?"

Hermione looked thoughtful. "That depends on what you mean. In legend Hermaphrodite was the child of Hermes and Aphrodite who had an unfortunate encounter with a mortal woman. In the Muggle medical world it's a term used to describe varying degrees of indeterminate or mixed gender from a variety of causes including genetic disorder and chromosomal damage. In the wizard world a hermaphrodite truly has both male and female sexual organs and is both a powerful wizard and a powerful magical object. The last British hermaphrodite died in 1683 and his name was...it'll come back to me...Mayness...no, Maynell."

"Hermione," said Harry. "Do you know everything?"

She laughed. "Of course not. Not yet, anyway. Harry, are you a hermaphrodite? Is that what this is about?"

He swallowed, "Yes."

"Oh," said Hermione.

"Wicked!" said Ron. "No wonder they gave you a room of your own. My Mum is going to be so thrilled."

Harry stared at him in astonishment. "Why?" he asked. "Why should your Mum care?"

"You don't know?"

"No."

"It's...I don't quite know how to explain it, but hermaphrodites are like wizard royalty. They help create wizard communities and wizard society is slowly breaking up because there hasn't been one for such a long time...since...that bloke Hermione said."

"Maynell," supplied Hermione.

"You should have told us," said Ron. "Why didn't you?"

"I was ashamed."

"What of?"

"Being different, I suppose."

"When did you find out?" Hermione asked.

"Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia always said I was a freak, but I mustn't tell anyone. So I...I didn't. But when I started to..." he glanced at Ron, "have periods, I couldn't avoid thinking about it any more."

Hermione's eyes grew round, "You have periods?"

Harry nodded, miserably.

"What do you do?" said Hermione. "I mean you cope, obviously. You haven't gone all Carrie on us, but then no-one tipped a bucket of blood all over you..." Harry and Ron stared at her in honest puzzlement. She went on, "But you sleep in a boys' dormitory."

"I take Impediere Infans."

"Ouch. That's powerful stuff. It'll stop the bleeding stone dead but really it's not safe to take for very long...Ron?"

Ron was looking bewildered, "Too much information!" he said. "I have enough trouble with boy parts, I don't think I could cope with girl parts as well."

"I didn't hear you complaining about girl parts last night," said Hermione. Ron went scarlet. "But really, Harry, there are charms you can use instead that are a lot less messy," she went on.

"There are?"

"I'll teach them to you -"

"Not right now!" said Ron. "I don't think that's a man thing..."

"There's a couple of other things I need to tell you," said Harry before an argument could start. He saw the sudden fire in Hermione's eyes and recognised it from the S.P.E.W. days.

"There's more?" said Ron.

"Um...yes."

"Go on."

"Well...mostly I like boys...men. Rather than women. To sleep with, that is."

"So?" said Ron. "I mean it's not my glass of butterbeer, but you're not asking me to sleep with you. You're not, are you?"

Harry laughed. "No, I'm not."

"You don't need to make it sound as if you wouldn't touch him with a bargepole," said Hermione. "Even if he is my boyfriend."

"Besides," said Ron. "Humans marry werewolves and things all the time. There was even that madwoman who married a centaur."

"I've never met anyone who's gay," Hermione looked thoughtful.

"Harry's not gay," said Ron. "Gay means liking people of the same gender and either everyone's the same gender as Harry or no-one is."

"But..." said Hermione.

"Er...still here," said Harry.

"Besides," Ron forged on, "you've met plenty of gay people. You just didn't know."

"Such as?" said Hermione.

"Professor Lupin," supplied Ron, after a moment.

"Professor Lupin's gay?" Hermione looked disbelieving.

"Yeah. He's married to Sirius. Isn't he, Harry." Ron appealed to Harry for confirmation.

"Neither of them have ever mentioned it to me," said Harry.

"I expect they thought you knew," said Ron. "That's why Snape laid it on so thick with the, 'Black was an old friend of yours, Lupin,' stuff. I asked my Mum about it when I got home and she said everyone felt really sorry for Lupin when Sirius got sent to Azkaban but he just disappeared. Until he turned up here as a teacher Mum thought he was dead."

"What's the other thing?" Hermione turned back to Harry, after a pause.

Another deep breath. "This is the really hard part," he said. "I'm pregnant."

Hermione looked aghast. "How?" she said.

"The usual, how else?"

"No, I mean you said you took Impediere Infans. That's a contraceptive and nothing to fool around with. What went wrong?"

"I don't know," said Harry.

"You don't look pregnant," said Ron.

"Since June," said Harry. He took the concealing charm off.

"Still don't look pregnant," said Ron. "Are you sure?"

"Morning sickness is pretty fierce," said Harry. "Yes, I'm sure."

Hermione's brows creased, "June...that was when you had that bad bout of pain and sickness with You Know Who. And Impediere Infans is a potion. Had you just taken it?"

"The day before. Well, that night."

"Thought so. You brought the potion up so it wasn't fully effective. You didn't know that so you wouldn't think to tell him. Who was it? No, sorry, that was rude of me. I take it back."

"It's all right, I've got to tell someone. Do you think it could have been that? I'd wondered if I made the potion wrong, but I think he'd have noticed. But if he'd wanted me to get pregnant he might have let me make a mistake and not said anything..."

"Harry?" Ron sat up straight. "Are you saying you're having Snape's baby?"

"Yes," said Harry, in a very small voice. "Babies, actually. They're twins."

"Harry!" yelled Ron. "You slept with that greasy git?"

"He's a teacher!" shrieked Hermione at the same moment. "Didn't you think?"

Harry stared at the pattern of the carpet; he was mentally picking out all the red flowers. Still in that small voice he said, "I just wanted to be loved."

"And we had each other," said Hermione. "Oh, Harry."

"And he didn't... I wanted him and he seemed to want me and not many people have and he didn't think I was ugly or disgusting -"

"You're not going to cry are you?" said Ron. "Only, I'm crap when people cry."

"Yeah," said Hermione. "You tend to sleep with them."

Ron looked at her, "I didn't hear you complaining."

"That's because I'd got a great lump of a Weasley on top of me and not much breath left over for complaining about it."

Harry smiled at them. It was rather weak, but it was a smile.

"Shouldn't we be going to dinner?" said Ron.

Hermione jumped up, "We'll be late! Come on!" She turned and hugged Harry, hard. "Whatever happens, yes?"

"Whatever happens," said Harry.

Ron grabbed his shoulder. "Whatever happens," he said.

"Whatever happens, Ron."

***

The door slammed open and Harry turned in his seat. "You got my letter, then?" It was all he could think of to say.

"And the one from Albus. And the one from Minerva." Sirius came further into Harry's room and shut the door. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I... It never seemed to be the right moment." Harry was getting to know that carpet extremely well. "We've never had much time together and anyway, I thought you might know but not want to mention it."

"I had no idea. I have no idea why James and Lily didn't tell me. Or anyone." Sirius prowled the room in what Harry felt to be a thoroughly unnerving way. "Who was it?" asked Sirius, when they finally came face to face.

"None of your business," said Harry.

"Ball... Rubbish. I'm your godfather and your guardian. Of course it's my business."

"It would ruin his life," said Harry.

"It will, if I've anything to do with it. I'm going to tear the bast... swine limb from limb."

Harry winced, but he said, "You can swear. I haven't suddenly turned into a shrinking violet."

"No I can't. Not now. It would be like swearing in front of the Queen."

Harry stared at Sirius, and then closed his mouth. "What do you mean?"

Sirius gave him an irritated look. "They haven't told you much, have they? I suppose they were waiting for me. Well, they'll carry on waiting."

"Professor Dumbledore said something about it all being very complicated," said Harry.

"That's one way of putting it. People like you, they are... I don't know if I can explain this very well... A sort of an icon of what it means to be a wizard, of what it means to hold that kind of power. I know as the Boy Who Lived you've always been told you must set an example. That'll get fifty times worse when this gets out. And it will."

"I suppose I'll be criticised for my lack of morals," said Harry.

"That'll be the least of it. Especially if the bast... swine who got you pregnant doesn't step forward. And if he does they assume he did it for the influence."

Harry sighed. "So he's damned if he does and damned if he doesn't."

Sirius turned on his heel and went to stand next to the fire. "Yes. So, who is it?"

"I'm not telling you."

"I am not leaving until you do."

"You'd better ask Professor Dumbledore for a room, then. Because I'm not saying."

There was a long silence while Sirius prowled around the room, picking things up and putting them down again. Finally, he said, "Can I sit down?"

"It's a free country," said Harry. He was thinking, free for everyone except me, apparently.

Another long, tense silence, then Sirius said, "Albus told me that you said this man... That you said he'd - dumped - you." His voice was much softer. "Did he say why?"

Harry thought for a moment, then said, "I... I told him I loved him."

"And do you?"

"Yes." Harry's attention was back on the carpet with the red flowers. It occurred to him that after this he'd never be able to live with red flowers on carpet as long as he lived.

"Has he said anything since?"

"Some stuff about Voldemort. Nothing about... About us." Too late, Harry realised what he'd implied.

Sirius uncurled from the sofa. "Snape," he said. "He raped you."

"No! No, he didn't."

"You're not telling me you wanted it!"

"I can't tell you anything," Harry shouted back. "You don't want to listen!" "

I really am going to tear that...shit... man to pieces. I should have made sure Remus killed him, the dirty, lying..." Sirius strode to the door and flung it open.

It slammed behind him and Harry sat down. "Oh...shit," he said.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next and final part.

Harry pulled the invisibility cloak from his trunk and followed Sirius down to the dungeon. It was a good thing that everyone was in class because Sirius was obviously far too angry to consider transforming. Sirius stopped outside the dungeon; Harry watched him, Sirius' face glimmering in the half-light, only relieved that he was not quite angry enough to storm in with a class in progress.

He could hear Snape's voice and shivered, despite himself; that voice was one of the things he found most attractive about Snape, and even now it was hard to let it go. Sirius didn't seem impressed, though. He was watching the class intently, a look of disgust on his face.

Harry heard Snape's familiar wind-up phrases at last; he slipped through the open door and moved to a corner. He noticed Neville looked relieved to go, even more so than usual, and wondered what had happened.

Sirius came in, and stood just inside the door, arms folded. Snape didn't turn, but Harry knew by the subtle stiffening of his spine that he'd noticed. "Black," Snape said, still with his back to the door and Sirius. "I should have known."

Sirius slammed the door closed with his foot, and Harry winced. He said, "You seduced Harry and then dropped him like a hot coal. If he'd been a boy it would still have been a shitty thing to do, but-"

Snape interrupted him, "Is that what Harry told you?"

"He didn't have to. I know you too well."

Not well enough, thought Harry, if you think he seduced me.

Snape said, "What did he tell you?"

"That you got him pregnant."

You jumped to that conclusion, thought Harry. Interrupting them would be criminally stupid, something he fully recognised, but the temptation was almost killing him.

Finally, Snape turned around. Harry saw that he looked even paler than usual, white to the lips. He said, "Am I denying it?"

"No," said Sirius. "But you're not exactly admitting it, either."

"I shouldn't imagine Harry would be thrilled to have the information become public knowledge."

"I should tear you apart," said Sirius.

Harry stepped away from the wall, just in case.

"Please do," said Snape. "I'm sure Albus will be really thrilled with his golden boy when you show him the bits."

Sirius looked at Snape for a long moment, then he said, "What I don't understand is, why you? You're a shit, and not even a very attractive one."

"Then we have something in common," replied Snape.

"I really don't get it. Why would he choose you? What did you do to make him go along with it? Use one of your potions to soften him up? It would be just like you, you pervert." Snape was silent, and Harry watched Sirius take a step closer. Sirius said, "You don't want to admit it, do you?"

"Believe what you like, Black," said Snape. He held his ground. "You seem to have all the answers."

"You know what he told me?" said Sirius. "He said he 'didn't want to ruin your life'. As if having him in it could do anything but improve your miserable excuse for a life."

Snape said nothing, merely looked at Sirius with one eyebrow raised.

"Why have you done this to him? Was it that you couldn't stand to see anything that perfect and you had to ruin it? Like pissing in the snow?"

Harry closed his mouth abruptly. Him? Perfect? What was Sirius on? He saw Snape look away.

"My poor Harry," said Sirius. "You've thrown him aside-"

"Like a soiled glove?" said Snape. "Really, Black. Could you get more melodramatic if you tried? He will have to endure some criticism for having children so young, but he's strong and the wizard world will be so pleased to have him that it will all blow over quite quickly. But can you imagine everyone waking up to find my face in the Daily Prophet every morning? No, neither can I. Besides, Voldemort would think all his birthdays had come at once."

Harry felt his jaw drop again. What on earth was Snape on about?

"You're a shit," Sirius repeated.

"I know," said Snape. "The door's behind you."

"Why did he choose you?"

"He was lonely. The door, Black."

Sirius left.

He closed the door behind him, and the room was completely silent. Harry didn't dare move; he knew Snape had excellent hearing. He watched Snape prowl back to his desk and sit down. He looked, somehow, more alone than Harry had ever seen him.

At that moment, Harry's nose started to tickle. He put his hand to it and pinched, holding on desperately. There was a knock at the door and Snape said, "In!"

Harry had never been more relieved to see anyone than he was that first year. He didn't even know her name. He slipped out and was able to sneeze in peace.

***

"Did you sleep all right?" Ron asked.

"Yes...why wouldn't I?" said Harry. He put down his breakfast and looked about for the salt.

"You Know Who's been busy, and I just wondered." Ron pushed the Daily Prophet over to Harry. "Look."

Harry stared at the headline, 'Dark Mark seen over Croydon' and the twinkling picture of Dark Mark, almost as bright as the Asda sign. "I know that place!" said Harry. He read down the article swiftly. Three Muggles dead - their names were not given - and a witch, Arabella Figg. He felt sick.

"You didn't feel anything?" said Ron.

"Not a twinge." Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or not. He should be, but the pain connected him to Voldemort's other victims, and he half regretted the loss.

Hermione arrived with a pile of books under her arm. She dropped them on the table with a loud bang, and went to fetch some toast.

"Isn't Madam Pince suspicious?" asked Harry, when she got back. "This is the fourth lot."

"She hasn't said anything. You know Madam Pince, she never says much no matter what you take out. And it's not as bad as it would be if it was you borrowing them."

He supposed she was right, if Harry Potter started taking books out of the library about having babies she'd think him insane. And Hermione reading them saved him the trouble of doing it himself.

***

After breakfast he had another of his appointments with Madam Pomfrey. It wasn't pleasant; Harry had been brought up to hide his body, and exposing it seemed somehow...wrong. Even more wrong now that he was beginning to look a bit fat; he reminded himself of Dudley. He wondered how big he'd get.

"You're doing well," she said. "Has the sickness passed off?"

"It's getting better." Harry climbed off the bed, and pulled his trousers on.

Madam Pomfrey put her quill down. "You know, I can't understand why I never noticed before."

"What?" Harry retied his tie, and reached for his pullover.

"After all the times you were in here, you'd think I'd have seen that you of all the students were a hermaphrodite. I can't think how I missed it, I seem to have undressed you at least twice a year since you came to the school."

"I suppose so." That aspect had never crossed Harry's mind. It did seem odd.

"And why your parents never told anyone-"

"They didn't. Nobody I know of, anyway. Not even Professor Dumbledore." Harry sighed. Even Sirius swore he hadn't known, but he couldn't tell Madam Pomfrey that.

"I suppose we'll never find out why, now."

"I don't expect so." Harry pulled on his robe and turned to go.

"Next month," she said. "Don't forget."

***

From his position at the teachers' table Snape watched Harry Potter eat. Even in this, when teenagers were at their most disgusting, he was beautiful. The extraordinary economy of movement, the lines of his face, a look beyond androgyny into something unique.

Snape swallowed the last morsel of dessert, and stole another glance as Potter stood. And now there was the soft swelling of his belly - the concealment charm Potter used hid his condition only from those who did not know. He wondered if Potter realised, but supposed he must do.

Those children would never be his; strangely perhaps he felt that as their father he should have some rights. In theory of course he did, but the theory only applied where the parents were married, or engaged. Or at the very least when the man was acknowledged. Curse Potter's nobility anyway. He could have taken this out of Snape's hands by telling Dumbledore rather than letting the old man guess - for Snape was sure he had guessed.

Nothing had been said, of course. Even Dumbledore could hardly avoid sacking a teacher who got a hermaphrodite pregnant - not unless the hermaphrodite said otherwise, and there was little chance of Potter doing that. Snape had made sure of it.

***

"How are the team doing?" Harry forced himself to ask, and to sound cheerful when he did so.

"Oh, all right," said Ron. "You should come and watch a practise some time, we..." He'd opened the door to the Great Hall but stopped when silence fell. "Oops," he said, very quietly.

Harry really wanted to turn round, go back to his room and never come out again. Instead he collected his breakfast and sat down at the Gryffindor table as usual.

Very slowly, conversation started up again, around the Hall. Harry didn't feel like eating, but he spread butter and jam on his toast and took a bite. He wasn't - just wasn't - going to run. He noticed Ron looked rather worried and smiled, he hoped convincingly.

Dean Thomas said, "Are you really..." then stopped.

Harry put his toast down. Dean passed the Daily Prophet across the table. Harry was sure breakfast was something else he was beginning to get a complex about. The headline read, 'Harry Potter pregnant' in a type almost bigger than the front page. Harry removed the concealment charm - there was no point to it now - and Dean's eyes grew big as saucers.

"Wow!" said Dean. "When is it...?"

"Around Easter," said Harry. "What does the article say?"

"You're not going to read it?"

"Not if I can help it."

"It quotes 'sources' in the Ministry," said Hermione, who had been sitting nearby. "No-one at the school has said a word that I can tell, there's not even a 'no comment'. But I bet I know who it'll be. Malfoy."

"And we've got History of Magic this morning," said Ron.

***

In the event it wasn't as bad as Harry had feared - though it was considerably stranger. Harry left his room a little later than he'd intended, he could see Hermione and Ron already waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

"Would you like me to carry your bag?" asked Malfoy. He'd - apparently - been outside Harry's room.

"I can manage," said Harry, rather taken aback both by the offer and the fact that Malfoy seemed perfectly serious. "Thank you," he added, belatedly.

"You'll tell me if there's anything I can do for you?" Malfoy followed Harry down the stairs.

Harry tried to imagine a situation in which he might want anything from Draco Malfoy and failed. The silence stretched beyond the polite and Malfoy blushed. Even more astonished, if that were possible, Harry reached the bottom of the stairs and handed his bag to Ron, who took it without a word.

They arrived at the History of Magic classroom to find the rest of the Slytherins in a knot, whispering. Harry and Ron exchanged glances; this usually meant they were plotting something. But on seeing Harry they all gave a sort of half-bow. Nobody spoke.

"What was all that about?" whispered Harry to Ron as they sat down.

"They're proving what good manners they've got compared with the rest of us scum," said Ron.

"Eh?" Harry pulled his book and parchment out of his bag. "You mean they're going to do that all the time?"

"Probably. Everyone else is supposed to," said Ron. "But I'd feel silly."

"You'd look pretty silly, too," said Harry. "You must meet me twenty times a day. They meet me twenty times a day. I don't get why-"

At that moment Professor Binns appeared through the blackboard, unrolled his parchment and began to read. He'd moved away from goblin rebellions some time in their fifth year and was now giving an outline of the history of wizard specific legislation and of the Ministry of Magic. Unfortunately while this was important, it was also even more boring than the goblin rebellions, which at least had deaths to brighten them up.

His attention not held by the lesson, Harry looked around. Ron had his eyes closed, no doubt resting them for the day ahead; Hermione was making her usual copious notes, which he and Ron would copy later and Draco Malfoy was watching him. Not with his usual malice, though Crabbe and Goyle both looked as curious as it was possible for lumps of wood to look, but with a kind of speculation. Malfoy smiled at him and Harry looked away. He wondered what Malfoy was planning.

***

Professor McGonagall greeted Harry with a nod as he arrived for his lesson. She closed her book and stood up, dislodging her copy of the Daily Prophet. "Yes, well," she said. "We were lucky to keep it a secret this long."

"Professor?" Harry asked. "Do you know how they found out?"

"Unfortunately not. I can make an informed guess, but..." Uncharacteristically, she trailed off. "If anyone is rude to you about it, Potter, you must tell me."

"I can manage." He saw her face. "Really."

"That's not the point."

"Actually..." Harry wasn't sure how to put this. "Even the Slytherins haven't said a word. It's a bit odd, I expected them to take the piss." Too late he realised which phrase he'd used.

She ignored it. "It's not them I'm worried about," she said. "It's the Muggle-borns who may not understand."

"I don't understand, either," said Harry. "So I can't really blame them."

"You've read Meynell's book?" she said, rather sharply.

"Yes, but it's in weirdo-speak."

"I suppose he is a little elliptical. He had reason enough to be."

Harry looked at her curiously.

"You know Britain is a monarchy?"

"Of course." Really, thought Harry. What sort of idiot did McGonagall take him for?

"In the eyes of wizards you rank equal to the Queen. In the eyes of some wizards, you rank higher than the Queen."

Harry swallowed. So that's what Meynell had been getting at. He said, "Does that mean they put my face on the coins?"

"Yes," she said without missing a beat. "It does."

Harry sat down. He'd meant the question facetiously. "What else?" he asked.

"All wizard-specific legislation has to be approved by you, as well as by the Minister for Magic."

"Anything else?" He'd best know it all.

"The Ministry has to provide somewhere for you to live and pay for you to live there. The Minister will be contacting you about that in due course."

"I don't...work?"

"Oh, you'll work. Just not at any normal job. Between taking part in enchantments, attending garden parties, making speeches and greeting VIPs you'll be very busy." She sat down and put her arm around him. She'd never done that before and he was rather surprised. "It's not the life you wanted for yourself," she said. "And if we'd known about you when you first came to Hogwarts you'd have had suitable training in what's expected of you-"

"And I wouldn't have ended up like this," he indicated his stomach.

"No, you wouldn't."

Harry stole a glance. He was used to thinking of McGonagall as a hard disciplinarian; he sometimes forgot the other things she'd done for him.

***

About the last person he expected to see in Professor Dumbledore's office was Ron's mum. "Auntie Molly?" he said. He'd been promoted to brevet-nephew a couple of years ago and it still gave him a warm feeling.

"Oh, Harry!" Molly enfolded him in a tight hug.

"How was Divination?" said Professor Dumbledore when Molly had released him. His eyes twinkled as they so often did.

"Professor Trelawney's very pleased," said Harry. "She hadn't foreseen this - though she's not admitting it - but there's a whole new way for me to die nastily."

"Harry!" Molly looked horrified.

"Oh, don't worry, Auntie Molly. Madam Pomfrey says it's very unlikely to happen - if I get the proper care."

"I know but even so...are you sure you should be here? All this walking around and carrying heavy bags of books, it can't be good for you."

"I don't carry much," said Harry. "Ron and Hermione mostly do that. I don't think it's necessary, but they insist."

"I still don't think-"

"Auntie Molly, I need my education."

"What for?"

"I don't want to be different."

Molly looked thoughtful. Then she said, "But Harry, different is what you are. You can't change that."

Harry looked away. "I know," he said. "But I don't want to be different in any way I don't need to be."

"Of course you don't," she hugged him again. "Now, how did this happen?"

Harry grinned, he couldn't help it. "You've got seven children, Auntie Molly. You must know how it happens." He blushed. "Sorry. That was rude."

"Apology accepted. Now, was it Ron?"

"No! Ron's engaged to Hermione."

A curious expression crossed her face, but she said, "Good, I brought Ron up to be a gentleman, but one can never be completely sure..."

Harry didn't think much for Ron's chances if his mum found out exactly what 'being engaged to Hermione' entailed. Certainly, he wasn't about to tell her.

Dumbledore intervened, "Molly, Harry has maintained his silence on that subject from the start. I think he is entitled to continue to do so. Shall we have tea?"

Harry was more grateful than he dared say.

***

"What are those?" Ron asked.

"Invitations to spend Christmas," said Harry. "Four so far."

"Five," said Ron, dropping a letter on the desk. "Not sure if I should even bother you with it, but mum said you'd be very welcome to spend Christmas with us."

Harry smiled, "Are you sure? Is there room?"

"You're to have Percy's room. He's gone to the States to try to improve our relationship with wizards over there. Fred and George say they expect war to break out any day."

Harry giggled. "How's the shop doing?"

"I'll let you hear it from them, no point boring you with it twice. Who are the invitations from?"

"It's strange, there's never been people queuing up for my company before. So far we have Mr and Mrs Fudge--"

"Wow! The Minister himself."

"I bet that would have been a barrel of laughs," said Harry, ironically. "And here we have Mr and Mrs Malfoy," Harry waved a letter on particularly stiff and crackly parchment, "and Draco."

"Urrgh! You'd have to be mad."

"That's what I thought. Then there's this one, five spelling mistakes in seven lines from Mr Crabbe."

"Double urrgh!"

"And finally one from a Madam Polkar. I've never even heard of her."

"Neither have I. So, are you coming?"

"Yes, of course. It's very kind of your mother to ask me."

***

It was a bit strange to be at The Burrow and not be sharing a room with Ron. In all the visits he'd made Harry had never before been in Percy's room. He wasn't sure if it reflected Percy's personality or if it had been tidied up for him. Possibly a bit of both. Percy's Quidditch team seemed to be the Lancaster Lancers - well, it would be, they were half way down the second division, maintaining their position by the skin of their teeth.

Harry got up to go downstairs and Hedwig blinked at him from the perch Hermes would normally use. She'd worked hard taking the refusals back and Harry opened a pack of owl treats. She took one delicately.

Halfway through dinner, Harry startled himself and everyone else with a sudden, "Ouch!"

The only person who didn't look worried was Molly. "Are they awake, dear?"

"And kicking," he said. He was a touch ashamed at having made everyone jump like that.

"They'll go back to sleep soon," she said. "My lot did that to me."

Ron, Ginny, Fred and George all looked a bit ashamed. Ron was also a bit pinker than normal, but then he was easily embarrassed.

Other than his children occasionally making their presence felt, he had a wonderfully quiet and peaceful Christmas. Just as well, he thought, since it was the last he'd ever have on his own. Next year he'd have children. He looked down as he got into bed on the last night of the holidays. He was already very swollen, every taunting word he'd ever said to Dudley came back to haunt him. But of course his was for a different reason. He sighed and lay back, trying to get comfortable.

There was a knock at the door and Harry sat up again. "Who is it?"

"Me." Ron came in. Even his freckles looked embarrassed. "Thought I'd better tell you," he said.

"What?"

"I think mum's guessed."

"Guessed what?"

"About Snape."

"Oh, no." Harry lay back down.

Ron sat on the bed. "I'm really sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to tell her, but you know what she can be like."

An evil smile crossed Harry's face. "I do," he said. "But Snape doesn't, does he? He hardly knows your mother."

***

Harry approached the first Potions class after Christmas with a great deal of trepidation. He'd seen Snape leave the Great Hall at breakfast clutching a Howler, and though he hadn't heard it go off he had a very good idea who had sent it. Harry didn't know what he'd been hoping for but Snape looked his usual self.

He was as careful to treat Snape as nothing more than a teacher - as careful as Snape was to treat him as nothing more than a student. The one on one teaching was paying off, though. If there was one NEWT he would pass it would be Potions; Snape was much better a tutoring an individual than he was at teaching a class, even Harry could see that, and he felt rather sorry for the rest of his year. It seemed unfair somehow.

The lesson proceeded normally, even boringly, until the time came for Harry to cast the simple Fix spell on his Floating Solution. The potion should have turned pale mauve and gone cold instantly. Instead it went a bright, vivid and poisonous looking yellow and floated out of the cauldron. Harry and Snape looked at each other.

Snape said, "Walk away. Very slowly."

Harry did so. He wasn't worried that he'd done something wrong, with Snape watching everything he did there was very little chance for him to do something catastrophic. But he realised that if Snape was that worried, there was probably something to worry about.

The contents of the cauldron, a slightly misshapen ball of fluid, floated upwards and waited near the ceiling, turning slowly. It floated towards them. Though the mass looked like nothing more than a Muggle child's balloon, the movement was somehow eerie.

Snape took out his wand - to Harry's surprise, he'd rarely seen him use it - and pointed it at the ball. "Impedimenta!" he said. Snape's voice was quiet, but it carried a great deal of force.

The yellow ball stopped, and Harry had the curious impression it was angry. "What do we do now?" he asked. He knew the Impediment Jinx wouldn't last long.

"Be quiet, I'm thinking," replied Snape. "Ah. Infectum reddere!" The ball fell apart and the raw ingredients hit the stone floor of the dungeon, and turned to powder.

"What did I do?" Harry asked.

Snape didn't answer immediately, he was watching the powder blow away. His expression was unreadable. Finally, he said, "No more potions requiring spells. You're far too unpredictable."

"But what did I do?"

"For some unknown reason either your unconscious or your innate ability affected the fixing spell and gave the creation a life of its own, a consciousness."

"Would that thing have killed me?" Harry was horrified.

"I don't think so. I can't be so sure about me, though."

Harry thought for a moment. "I don't hate you," he said.

"Don't you? You would be perfectly entitled to."

"I don't."

"Perhaps you should." Snape turned on his heel. "I think that's enough for today."

Whether he meant the conversation or Potions, Harry wasn't quite sure. Harry said, "I wanted to ask you something."

Snape turned back, slowly. "What?"

"Does Voldemort know? About me, that is?"

"Yes. He's known for some time, well before the Daily Prophet made their announcement."

"Did you tell him?"

"That honour went to Mcnair - I also suspect if was he who sold the story to the Prophet. Voldemort was not pleased with me, but he let me live." Snape shivered very slightly. "Just."

"And does he know--"

"That you're pregnant? Obviously. He doesn't know that I-- The part I played. Along with almost everyone else, he thinks the father must be Weasley."

"Ron!" Harry was astonished.

"It's the obvious assumption. I'm sure it would amuse Mr Weasley no end to know that he's currently the most envied young man at Hogwarts - he has both you and Granger in tow, apparently without any effort at all."

"Hermione's very pretty--" Harry started.

"Miss Granger is an averagely attractive young woman. You are unique."

"I suppose there aren't very many-"

"What part of 'unique' was it you didn't grasp? There aren't any others." The bell rang. "As that is the end of the lesson, you'd better go."

Harry looked at Snape wondering what he was thinking. He had an idea he should apologise for the Howler; he decided that would involve him in a conversation he didn't wish to have.

***

The following morning he rather regretted that decision. Snape received another and this time only just got outside the door before it went off. Harry clearly heard Molly Weasley's voice and Ron grinned. Despite his regret, Harry grinned back.

"I better write to her," said Ron. "Before she gives the game away completely. Can I borrow Hedwig? Pig's already taking her my usual 'arrived safely' letter, though what she thinks is going to happen to us between home and Hogwarts, I can't imagine."

"Yeah, go on," said Harry. "She should be back from taking my letter to Sirius."

"Has he come round yet?"

"Not so's you'd notice," said Harry. He was a trifle glum, his godfather's opinion meant a lot to him.

"Maybe he'll be better when the children are born?"

"And maybe he'll be worse. Trouble with Sirius is, you can never tell. I don't know how Professor Lupin stands it."

"Snape would be worse," said Ron, sotto voce.

"At least you'd know where you stood."

Ron considered the point. "I suppose so. Imagine what Sirius is going to say when you tell him you're going to marry Snape."

"Tell you what," said Harry. "Let's not. Besides, I'm not going to marry Snape." He got heavily to his feet. "History of Magic in ten minutes."

"I'll get your bag for you and meet you at the bottom of the stairs," said Hermione, who had been reading.

"I can manage."

"You look tired, and if we let you do too much it won't just be Snape that Molly's sending Howlers to. She'll have our guts for garters."

Ron's letter seemed to be effective, Snape's breakfasts appeared undisturbed as far as they could tell.

***

With only two more terms to go, the amount of work they had to do for their NEWTs increased drastically. Harry began to wonder if he shouldn't have taken the opportunity to bail out when he had the chance. He was grateful for the room on his own, he could study undisturbed by the noise in the common room - it was quieter even than the library.

The letter from the Ministry came in the seventh week of term. He opened it warily, but it proved to be about his new house. Well, not new of course, just new to him. Ashe Park Hall was in Surrey. Harry wished it was in just about any other county in Britain, he'd grown up in Surrey. He supposed it made sense, though - at least to an Elizabethan mind. From Maynell's mad book he'd had the distinct impression that he first Elizabeth had rather relied on her pet wizard. Or her wizard pet, he wasn't sure which. Harry doubted the second one would have - or be allowed to have - quite the same expectations.

The letter closed with an invitation - a carefully worded instruction - for him to visit Ashe Park Hall at Easter. That would be difficult, he was due to have the children just after and he didn't answer the letter immediately. He wasn't entirely surprised, therefore, to receive a summons to visit the Headmaster's office.

"Harry! Do sit down," Dumbledore spoke as if Harry had merely popped round by chance.

"Thank you." Harry sat.

"Tea?"

"Yes, please." Harry took the cup and sat back, leaning it on the substantial shelf he now had. He'd noticed the Minister for Magic as soon as he came in and now looked his way.

"The Minister asked to see you," said Dumbledore.

"I see," said Harry, though he didn't. He had the distinct feeling that Dumbledore was none too pleased, but then Dumbledore and Fudge hadn't seen eye to eye for several years.

"How are you, Harry?" asked the Minister.

"Very well, thank you," said Harry. That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say because Dumbledore's expression darkened and Fudge looked a trifle triumphant. Harry added, "Other than being pregnant of course." As if anyone could miss it. He was beginning to wonder if he'd turn into something the size of a house.

"We'll need to discuss the...ah...duties you'll undertake when you leave school," said Fudge.

Fudge was doing his fatherly act, but Harry wasn't fooled for a minute. He contented himself with sipping his tea and looking what he hoped was politely curious.

"You will be expected--" began Fudge.

"I will help out where I can," said Harry. "But of course my children's needs must come first." For the first time he felt a sliver of gratitude that he was pregnant.

"Of course," said Fudge, in a voice which meant the opposite. "And we thought you might like to see your new home, which has been refurbished for you at great expense--"

"I can't really leave Hogwarts, not until--"

"Nonsense, Harry. It will only be for a couple of days. Then you'll be back safe and sound."

"I really don't think that's wise," said Dumbledore.

Harry shot him a grateful look. "And I agree," he said.

"I will personally guarantee your complete safety," said Fudge. "And, you know, a lot of people have worked very hard to get the Hall ready for you."

"I still don't think--" said Harry.

"You wouldn't like to disappoint them, would you?"

"No, but--"

"Well, there we are then. I'll arrange for you to transport there by portkey."

"In Harry's condition--" began Dumbledore.

"See here, Albus." Now Fudge was annoyed. "I don't tell you how to run your school, even now. Leave me to manage the matters under my jurisdiction."

"I am not under your 'jurisdiction'," said Harry. "I have agreed to come. That's all."

"May Harry bring a guest?" said Dumbledore.

"Of course."

"Two," put in Harry, quickly.

"Very well." Fudge looked less pleased.

***

Ron looked excited. "We're going to stay at your house?" He dropped his knife, and another appeared.

"Yes," said Harry. He wished he shared Ron's amazed pleasure, but he had a feeling that the visit was a supremely bad idea, not only because he'd be two weeks away from giving birth. Dumbledore hadn't said anything, but it seemed to Harry that he shared Harry's misgivings. From her expression, so did Hermione.

Harry stole a glance at Snape, who was eating at the teachers' table. He too looked worried, though why was a complete mystery. Harry looked away again when he saw that Snape was looking at him.

***

Easter was coming; time seemed to have speeded up. As the birth drew closer, he became more frightened. Part of him simply wanted it over with, but part of him was worried that he wouldn't cope, either with the birth or with caring for the children.

Molly Weasley came up to see him once a fortnight, bringing baby clothes. Somehow these made it all too real, and it didn't help that his interest in babies had never been all that great. All in all, he couldn't help feeling that this was a very high price to pay for not knowing how your contraceptive worked.

To add to his concerns, there was the purely physical discomfort - heartburn, piles, various pains which seemed to have no obvious source, the babies moving and kicking him, insomnia, the list seemed endless. He hardly noticed the absorption of his penis; having to sit down to pee was a minor irritation.

***

He hurried down the stairs and outside. He walked as fast as he dared; he was a bit late for Care of Magical Creatures, and he hated to upset Hagrid. As he arrived Ron said, "How long have you had those," and nodded in the direction of his chest.

"And why have we not noticed before?" Dean leered.

"Have more respect!" Malfoy's voice came from somewhere behind them.

Harry sighed. "Leave it," he said. Dean and Ron didn't like being taught manners by Malfoy, and this could get nasty.

"They shouldn't talk to you like that," said Malfoy, not prepared to leave well alone. "And you shouldn't let them."

"Malfoy's right." Hagrid finally managed to get a word in. "Ron and Dean, apologise to Harry. Now." They both did, rather shamefaced. Harry felt as if he wanted the ground to swallow him up. Hagrid continued, "You wouldn' say it to Hermione or Pansy? Would you? So you're not sayin' it to Harry. Even if it is true." Hagrid had very sharp ears. "Ron, I'm surprised at you."

"Why me?" Ron looked astonished. Dean had made the remark and it wasn't like Hagrid to be unfair.

There was a rather uncomfortable silence.

Harry said, "They're not Ron's." The entire class looked at him, and Harry blushed and stared at the grass.

"I think I'd remember if they were," Ron's voice was a trifle faint. "And I'd be dead," he added, when Hagrid had turned the attention of the class back to the lamia they were studying. "Because even if Hermione didn't kill me, my Mum would."

Harry stayed behind after class. Lamia were strange, chocolate-smelling snakes with the faces of women and Harry wasn't sure he wanted to handle them. Hagrid wouldn't let him help catch the lamia to return them to their paddling pool, so he sat on the step and watched Hermione and Ron chase them through the grass. He didn't know if any of them spoke Parseltongue, none had seemed inclined to talk to him if they could.

"So, it's not Ron," said Hagrid, when they'd finished, and were sitting in the sunshine with mugs of tea and a plate of sticky buns.

"No," said Harry. He wanted to smile, but couldn't. "It was Snape." Then he remembered that he hadn't already told Hagrid. Too late.

Hagrid spat out a mouthful of bun. "And Professor Dumbledore let him stay? I know Dumbledore's a great man an' all, but... Does he know?"

Harry could see his astonishment reflected on Hermione's face. This was the closest he'd ever heard to Hagrid criticising the Headmaster. "I've never said. And you're not to, either. Not if you think--"

"But when are you going to tell everyone?" asked Hermione. It was as if the question had been on her mind a long time.

"Never," said Harry. "Not if it'll hurt him." There was no need for him to explain who he meant.

"Why should you care?" Hagrid put his bucket-sized cup down on the step. "He should never have touched you."

"I... It doesn't seem fair." Harry leaned back; he was in pain again and this seemed to help a little.

"That you should pay for what he did?"

"That both of us should be miserable over what we both did."

There was a tense silence. Then Ron said, "Don't you want the children, Harry?"

"No," said Harry. Then, "Yes. I don't know. I just want it to be over."

"You've never seemed that unhappy about it before." Hermione had obviously chosen her words carefully.

"What's the point in torturing yourself over something that can't be changed?"

"Well, now," Hagrid picked up his cup again, and took a sip. "Most people, that's the kind of thing they torture themselves over the most."

***

Harry had double Potions with Snape just before lunch next day. Snape hadn't been at breakfast so Harry was surprised to see him with a loose white shirt under his robe, rather than the usual buttoned up, high necked jacket. Harry could see the end of a bandage peeking out of the left sleeve, which explained the lack of a jacket.

"What are you staring at?" Snape's temper was as bad as ever, obviously.

"Did you have an accident?" Harry put his bag down with relief. Hermione and Ron had to go in a different direction before this class and the bag was heavy.

"You could say that."

"Did something boil over?" Harry thought it would have to have been a pretty big something, the bandage looked substantial.

"No," said Snape. How dare you believe I would make that kind of mistake, his scowl seemed to imply.

"Just wondered," said Harry. "Are we doing lighting agents? I read that section up--"

"Not today. I thought I'd take you through the history and uses of mummy."

"Oh." That arm must hurt like hell, thought Harry. Snape likes his lessons hands-on. He blushed slightly at the memory that brought back.

Snape said, "Sit down, then."

As he took notes Harry had chance to observe. He wasn't able to do this usually, preparing potions on his own - even those not needing incantations - required a degree of concentration which precluded it. Snape looked thinner than he had, even under the loose shirt, and his face was somewhat haggard. The look didn't suit him, it called too much attention to his nose.

Harry wanted to ask again how Snape had hurt himself, but having been snubbed so thoroughly once he wasn't about to put his head in the lion's mouth a second time.

"I'm sorry about your arm," said Harry. He turned to go.

"Yes, well," said Snape. "I'm not popular in certain quarters at the moment."

***

Easter finally arrived. Harry didn't want to go to Ashe Park Hall, but he hadn't come up with a way of avoiding it. Going into labour was beginning to look attractive in comparison.

The children didn't much like travelling by portkey, they greeted Harry's arrival at Ashe Park Hall by kicking him hard enough to make him gasp. Fudge seemed to take that as a approval because he said, "It is spectacular, isn't it?"

Ron said, "Wow!" Hermione was silent; she just stared. Harry had to admit there was something to stare at, the Hall was set in rolling parkland, the view from where they were standing included a small herd of roe deer and an avenue of mature lime trees. It really was breathtaking.

Harry looked up at the house; architecture was not taught at Hogwarts but Hermione had found a book about Ashe Park Hall - he could always trust Hermione for that kind of thing - and from that, he knew that the house was Elizabethan. What he hadn't expected was the size of the place; he felt dwarfed.

They walked through the main entrance into a courtyard; a group of people stood, obviously waiting. "Who are they?" Harry asked.

"Your staff," said the Minister. "Except for the house elves."

Hermione's eyes flashed, and Harry sent her a quelling look. He didn't want to get into that argument here. "I... I see," he said.

From the courtyard entrance there looked to be a lot of people, but there turned out to be only four. "The housekeeper, Madam Danvers," said Fudge.

"Hello," said Harry. He shook her hand; her fingers were cold as ice and he wondered how long they'd all been standing there. Still, her long black dress looked warm enough. She reminded him of the first time he'd met Snape; he hoped he warm to her in the same way.

"The butler, Mr Cowper." Fudge moved to the next in line.

"Hello," said Harry. Cowper was tall, and very well built. He had the damaged face of a beater, and Harry wondered if he'd played Quidditch, and if so for which team. He couldn't imagine asking Cowper to get him anything, he rather thought it should be the other way around.

"The maid." Fudge looked at the maid. He'd obviously forgotten her name.

"Rose, sir. Rose Ellis." Rose shook his hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Rose," said Harry. She too had frozen fingers, and a rather thinner dress than Madam Danvers; Harry felt his patience with Fudge drop a little more.

"And finally the footman--"

"Stan isn't it?" said Harry. "Stan Shunpike?" Stan blushed and shuffled his feet. "You used to work on the Knight Bus, didn't you?"

"I didn't think you'd remember, Mr Potter, sir." Stan looked down at Harry's stomach. "Madam."

Harry smiled at him. He didn't know which would be better, either. Having been considered male most of his life he would prefer sir, if anyone had to be that formal. But then, there was this pregnancy. He sighed.

They went inside at last, and the butler brought tea and cucumber sandwiches into the large sitting room off the main hall. Harry was glad to sit down at last; walking was increasingly tiring.

"This place it's... Wow!" said Ron.

"Yes." Harry was rather less enthusiastic; he could see himself rattling round this place like a pea in a biscuit tin. "It's very...nice." What he meant was, it's very large.

***

His bedroom turned out to be huge, too, with a massive four-poster bed - the wizard world seemed to have no other kind. The only person he'd ever met with an ordinary bed was Snape. Suddenly, and rather stupidly in his opinion, Harry wished that Snape were with him.

Each of the little panels in his room was decorated with a painting, thankfully none were moving but even so Meynell's insanity was partially explained in Harry's eyes if he had lived all his life in this riot of colour. Even the hangings of the bed were decorated - dark blue with little fleur-de-lis and gold tassels.

There was a knock, Hermione put her head round the door and Ron followed her in. "Are you really going to live here?" she asked.

"Do I have a choice?"

"You could live in one of your other houses," she said. She sounded curiously reasonable.

"There are more?" Harry must have missed that bit of the conversation. Not that he'd been listening all that hard, he was too tired.

"Two, Madam Danvers told me. There's one in London and one in Scotland, not all that far from Hogwarts. The Scottish one was given to Meynell by Mary, Queen of Scots for 'services rendered'. Apparently Queen Elizabeth wasn't very pleased, but didn't dare upset him. They shared lovers, you know."

"Who?" said Harry. "Mary and Elizabeth?"

"No, Elizabeth and Maynell."

"Well if the Queen offers me Prince Philip I'll refuse. He's far too old for me."

"I thought you liked older men." Ron was examining the fireplace, he didn't say what for.

"Not that old." Harry was getting crabby and he knew it.

***

If he hadn't had his friends with him Harry would have found the next few days intolerable. As it was they were hard going. He didn't know why that should be, everyone was perfectly pleasant and friendly, but it was all rather formal, and formal meals with Cornelius Fudge - even when accompanied by his charming and rather young wife - lacked a great deal by way of entertainment.

The last day, curiously for March, was warm and sunny. Harry saw Ron and Hermione in a romantic clinch in what would be a very pleasant rose arbour later in the year. Oh, he thought. They want to be alone. He strolled - or rather waddled - through and into the walled herb garden.

He'd noticed it before, a seat like a larger version of a throne in a nook at one end of the garden. It seemed a strange place to put it, but he did need to rest before returning to the house. Harry sat down and stretched out. All he could hear was the birds singing. He closed his eyes. The birds stopped singing.

***

Harry opened his eyes again. He wanted to stand, he tried to, but he couldn't. The chair held him in place. It wasn't the stone throne he'd sat down in, the arms - the only bits he could see - were quite different. With difficulty, he raised his head and looked round. He was surrounded by a circle of robed and masked Death Eaters.

Initially, he felt nothing, no pain, no fear. Then he was grasped by a pain deep inside him, a strange grasping push, one he couldn't mistake.

Voldemort stepped into view. "Welcome, Harry Potter."

Harry remembered the cold clear voice all too well, and shivered. Curiously, there was no pain from the scar, only from the contraction of his body. He became aware that his robe was wet, where he was sitting on it. Yeuch, he thought. He said, nothing. There wasn't much he could say.

"How fortunate," said Voldemort, "that you survived our previous meeting."

Harry continued to stare. Silence still seemed the best policy, at least until he worked out what the hell was going on.

"I should like to conduct a little experiment." Voldemort looked at the assembled Death Eaters. It was difficult for Harry to tell, the robes and masks hid all, but he could feel fear on the air, almost taste it.

"Goyle?" said Voldemort.

"My Lord?" The voice was that of a man, not a boy.

"Kill him."

"My Lord?"

"Do it!"

"At your command." Goyle raised his wand. It was perfectly steady.

He really must have all the imagination of a caravan site, thought Harry. In his condition, even if he'd been able to stand he couldn't run. As it was, he could do nothing.

"Avada Kedavra!" shouted Goyle. The green light Harry still saw in dreams ripped out of Goyle's wand and hit.

It hurt. It hurt like being hit by a bludger. A second later Goyle lay on the ground. His mask fell away, and Harry could see that he was - had been - very like his son. His eyes were open, as Cedric's had been, and Harry was sure he was dead. Harry felt sick.

"No need to write up that one, I think," said Voldemort. He twirled his wand. "So, that's how you survived me. Not who you are, but what you are. Your parents were right to trust no-one. Wormtail here swears he knew nothing--"

"Nothing at all, my Lord," Wormtail's voice came from somewhere behind Harry and to his left.

"Silence! They didn't tell the werewolf or that...or Black."

Curious, thought Harry. I wonder what he was going to call Sirius.

Voldemort went on, "They didn't even tell Dumbledore - showing uncommon good sense for once." He stepped away. "Enough of my rambling. Wormtail?"

"My Lord?" Wormtail's voice was shaking. He stepped over the body of Goyle to reach his master.

"Fetch me the knife and the bowl."

"At...at once, my Lord." He scurried off.

"I'm glad you didn't dress up," said Voldemort, sounding almost amused. "This is a come-as-you-are party. But you won't be leaving in the morning."

Harry drew the obvious conclusion. "You're going to kill me."

"No, no, dear child," in that moment Voldemort sounded like Quirrel and Harry felt a bit sick, even through the pain of another contraction. "You're far too useful to kill. We're going to become...great friends."

Harry shivered.

***

A moment later Wormtail was back. Harry wanted to run, but the chair held him fast. Wormtail held a bowl, wide and shallow rather like Dumbledore's Pensieve, and like it covered with runes, but these almost seemed to move in the light. Across the bowl Harry could see a knife made of some dark grey stone.

All Harry could do - and it took all his strength and concentration - was to uncurl the fingers of his right hand. Once he'd done that, he relaxed for a moment, gathering himself.

Voldemort was speaking, an incantation in some language Harry didn't know. Not Latin, he'd learned Latin, or Greek, a few spells were in Greek, but something liquid. Strange and somehow cold. A shiver seemed to go around the assembled Death Eaters, and the sense Harry had of overwhelming fear increased. If they were afraid, Harry knew he should be petrified. But perhaps it wasn't fear. With the robes and masks, Harry had no way of knowing.

The knife by now was shivering, it rattled against the bowl, and Voldemort picked it up. His face had a gleam of triumph as he cradled it close, then he turned to Harry.

A wave of Wormtail's wand, and Harry's left arm was freed; Wormtail grabbed Harry's wrist in his silver hand and Harry tensed. It was painful, Wormtail's grip was powerful, but it was more than that, an aching cold travelled up Harry's arm to his shoulder. He whimpered with the pain, hating himself for his weakness.

Wormtail pulled, so that the arm was stretched out straight and Voldemort advanced with the knife and bowl, still chanting. Harry clenched his teeth as Voldemort raised the knife and cut him at the crook of the elbow.

Blood dripped slowly into the bowl. Harry watched, fascinated, the pain was less than he would have imagined; perhaps the other clenching pain within him distracted him from the sharp pain in his arm. He moaned, softly. He willed himself to be calm; somehow he felt that would help, though it was difficult to see how. Cold horror filled him, Voldemort had said only that he wouldn't kill Harry himself, and suddenly Harry had an idea what he might mean.

Voldemort opened the wound a little wider and Harry clenched his teeth again. He tried to move his arm but Wormtail held him firmly. Harry flexed the fingers of his other hand. The spell he wanted wasn't difficult, but it would require concentration.

"Heal him!" said Voldemort. He stepped away from Harry's arm and lowered the bowl. Harry gasped as Wormtail reset the spell holding his arm to the chair. The blood in the bowl was not red but the grey of the knife, with silver patterns, like those in Dumbledore's Pensieve, or clouds driven by the wind. He swallowed. Was that an illusion, a result of the enchantments on the bowl or was that...stuff...his blood?

Harry readied the spell. He concentrated, waiting for his chance. Voldemort was now crooning softly to the bowl of blood, rather as Hagrid did when some 'interesting creature' needed taming, and he walked round in a circle, spilling a drop of blood at each of the compass points. As he did so, Harry noticed the swirling pattern was repeated on the ground rather as if someone had pulled a plug on the earth.

A line from Meynell's book came back to him, 'The Old Ones come when called, but are hungry'. He took a deep breath, and another. He remembered the arrival of the ship from Durmstrang, but he knew beyond any doubt that he did not want to see what was going to travel up that path.

Voldemort walked to and fro, still singing. Harry sensed realisation behind the Death Eaters' fear. He would only get one chance.

"Petrificus totalis!" Not perhaps the most satisfying spell, but Harry had no idea what casting Avada Kedavra might do to the unborn.

Voldemort froze. The bowl fell from his hands and the blood splashed everywhere. There was a moment of stillness, as if a reel of film had frozen. Freed from the chair, Harry stood at last and took a step forward towards that still swirling nothingness.

"No! A Death Eater grabbed Harry around the waist. He tried to pull free.

Voldemort's frozen body topped forwards. A long tentacle, dull green and black, snaked lazily out of the swirling nothing. The tentacle encountered Voldemort's frozen body, curled round it, and pulled it into the void. Harry yelled, "Go back! Go!" He didn't know what possessed him, and knew he must have sounded really stupid. Harry swallowed bile. "Where's he gone?"

"To the domain of the Old Ones," said the Death Eater. He hadn't let go.

Harry looked at the mask, but saw nothing to reassure him. The ground closed with a weird sucking sound that should really have belonged to a liquid. Harry closed his eyes again, fighting off a feeling off the blackness which threatened to swallow him.

***

The world smelled different, and Harry opened his eyes. There was a forest canopy overheard, and the birds sang again. Snape pulled his mask off and dropped it as if it burned him.

"Where are we?" said Harry.

"The Forbidden Forest," said Snape. "Not where I was intending to be."

"Ow!" Harry clutched at his stomach, as the grasping pain took hold of him again. "Bloody hell!"

"What?"

"I think," Harry gasped for breath. "My children are impatient."

"This isn't a very good place for you to be in labour. I should apparate us to Hogsmeade."

"Where you intended us to be?" asked Harry.

"Yes," said Snape.

"What happens if we end up in Outer Mongolia? That would be fun." Harry couldn't help the sarcasm.

Snape looked at him assessingly, then said, "Very well. Are you able to walk?"

"I'll do my best."

Snape put an arm round him and supported Harry as he walked. His best was very slow, but complaining would do neither of them any good; there wasn't anything that could be done to alleviate the pain. To take his mind off it, Harry asked, "What are the old ones?"

"'Once worshipped as gods'," Snape was clearly reciting this from some old text, "'they are a primordial evil which dwell in an alternate dimension.' Voldemort believed that they would share their immortality with him if appropriately propitiated."

"And would they?"

"It's possible."

They walked on for a while in silence. Finally, when it became clear Snape wasn't going to explain further, Harry asked, "Why did Voldemort need me?"

"Any fool wizard can summon the Old Ones," said Snape. "Longbottom could do it. Even Muggles can do it, given sufficient study."

"Go on," said Harry, because Snape seemed to have stopped again.

"The trick is in being able to dismiss them once they have done your bidding. If they do it, of course, which is possible but unlikely. The only wizard who can dismiss the Old Ones is a hermaphrodite. You."

"But... I don't know how." Harry was aghast.

"There's no trick, you just did it. You just tell them to go and they go."

"Just, 'begone' and they go?"

"Yes. The difficult part is being in the right place at the right time."

"I hope we never have to test that theory again... Oh! Ow!" Harry stopped, while the pain passed over him again.

"I hope so, too." Snape pulled Harry closer, and Harry leaned against him while he recovered.

"What happens if the Old Ones don't go?"

"If you don't dismiss them, they take over the earth and kill every living thing except you. You become one of them, eternally sentient, eternally hungry."

"Oh," said Harry. He felt as if someone had dipped him into cold acid. "I have always thought that one of the most comforting things about life is that it will end."

There was a pause, and Snape said, his voice curiously soft, "'We thank with brief thanksgiving, Whatever gods may be, That no life lives for ever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river, Winds somewhere safe to sea'."

"Yes, something like that. Who wrote it?"

"A Muggle poet called Swinburne. It's from something called 'The Garden of Proserpine'."

There was a silence. Harry's next remark was another, "Ow!" which rather broke the mood.

"I wish there was something I could do," said Snape.

He sounded as if he meant it, which surprised Harry. "You can't. I just wish I had dry robes."

"Your waters have broken? When?"

"You know about that?"

"I'm not a complete fool."

"I never thought you were. Though you sometimes act it." Harry was irritated as well as in pain, mostly at himself because he had no idea when it had happened. "Oh, go on," he said. "Take twenty points off Gryffindor for insolence."

"Don't be absurd. This isn't the time or the place to be worrying about things like that. It's not as if I care anyway."

"Could have fooled me." Harry leaned against him harder, and they walked on a little further. "So, when Meynell talks about the Old Ones he means these creatures?"

"You've read Meynell's book?" Snape seemed to seize on the change of subject. Harry gathered that Snape was as worried as he was, and took comfort from it.

"Then you'll know he dismissed the Old Ones some twenty times. Did it never occur to you to wonder why the wizard world practically worships hermaphrodites? Why they would bother supporting them in the way they do?"

"Since I didn't know they did until this year, no. Oh! Oh, damn that hurts!"

Snape waited until the pain had passed. "Many wizards don't know. But if some wizard decides that his powers aren't sufficient, or wants to rule the world, or live forever or something equally asinine, and calls the Old Ones for help - it happens - with no hermaphrodite, the world may end."

"You don't need to hammer it home, I get the picture. And can I call these Old Ones?"

"Yes, but--"

"I was just considering feeding Fudge to one of them, except he would gum up its teeth. Assuming they have teeth. If it wasn't for that stupid bastard I wouldn't be having twins at midnight in the middle of a forest."

"It's not midnight."

"Don't be such a fucking pedant. What time is it?"

"Two am," said Snape.

Harry was surprised how well Snape was taking being berated and sworn at. Then the information penetrated. "What? It was lunchtime when Voldemort took me. Where was I for all those hours?"

"I've no idea. He said only that you were safe."

Harry heard more than simple information in Snape's words, and was curiously warmed. "Was I in some kind of enchanted sleep?"

"Possibly."

Harry stopped again, gripped by pain. "I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to walk," he said.

"This isn't a very good place to rest," said Snape. So far as Harry could see him, he looked concerned.

"I wouldn't call labour restful."

"Lumos." Snape examined Harry's face by the light of his wand.

"Have you ever delivered a baby before?" asked Harry.

"No. You are more the expert here than I am; Poppy will have told you what to expect."

"And I've read a lot of books. Ow!"

Snape checked his watch. "They're about three minutes apart."

"We will have to stop here."

"Very well." Snape didn't sound pleased, but he removed his cloak and spread it on the ground. "Unless you want to give birth straight onto the ground," he said.

Harry knelt on it, and leaned against a tree.

***

This was not the infirmary, he could tell by the smell. Harry opened his eyes. He was in his room at Hogwarts, the gaudy gold curtains were unmistakeable. "How did I...?" he asked.

Madam Pomfrey smiled, "Hagrid found you at dawn. He helped Professor Snape bring you back."

"How... Where are they?"

"They're here and they're fine. What are you going to call them?"

"I don't know, I hadn't thought about it." Harry took the children, one on each arm. Both were quite bald and had blue eyes, which blinked up at him. One yawned, he gathered from the pink shawl that it was the girl. She looked pretty, but then he hadn't put his glasses on yet.

"I'll help you sit up so you can feed them," said Madam Pomfrey.

"Oh, right." Harry wasn't sure about this, but he held the baby as Madam Pomfrey showed him and sure enough the little mouth fastened to his nipple and started to suck powerfully. "Ow!" said Harry.

"What hurts?"

Harry blushed. "Right inside me," he said.

"Your uterus is contracting. That's quite normal - a good sign, actually. When she stops suckling quite so powerfully, take her off and hold her on your shoulder as I taught you. That's right. Pat her on the back to bring her wind up."

Harry nodded; he'd grasped that part.

Pomfrey went on, "Your nurse starts tomorrow."

"My...?"

"For the children, for when you go back to school. And when they're old enough, the Ministry will help you find a nanny."

"I think I can dispense with their help. Look where that got me." Giving birth in a forest with only Snape for company was something he'd never forget; it had hurt like hell, and he wondered if Snape would ever speak to him again after some of the things he'd said.

***

The bedroom door slammed open and Harry jumped, dislodging the second baby from his nipple. He put the baby back, a little impatiently.

Sirius was as white as a sheet. "You're all right?"

"Yes, but no thanks to Fudge," said Harry.

"Are they...?"

"The children are fine, too." Pomfrey looked at Sirius disapprovingly, but if she was surprised to see a wanted criminal she didn't show it. "No need to come slamming in here."

"Sorry," said Sirius. "And Voldemort?"

Harry decided his son had had enough, and held him against his shoulder. He opened his mouth to reply but there was a knock, and the door opened again. Sirius transformed into Padfoot and Harry handed his son to Pomfrey.

The welcome visitors proved to be Ron, Hermione, Snape, Dumbledore and Lupin. The unwelcome one was Fudge. Harry heard Padfoot growl, but whether it was at Snape or Fudge he wasn't sure.

Breast feeding hadn't produced the adoring protection Harry had expected to feel, but having his children admired, handled by others did. Strange, he thought. Or perhaps not. He was glad Fudge didn't attempt to pick them up - he had no idea what he would have done, but it wouldn't have been pleasant.

"What are you going to call them?" Fudge no doubt thought his tone fatherly rather than patronising.

"Tarquin and Jessica," replied Harry, without missing a beat.

Hermione snorted and Harry very carefully didn't look at her. He could see Lupin's expression; he looked to be biting the insides of his mouth. Ron looked merely puzzled.

"How...nice," said Fudge.

"You owe Harry an apology," Snape was still standing by the door.

Fudge looked embarrassed. "How was I to know--"

"You weren't. But to make Harry travel in his condition was incredibly stupid. Anyone could have told you that. They probably did."

Padfoot transformed into Sirius, and Fudge backed away. "Black," he said. He pulled out his wand.

Harry sat up, and winced. "Accio wand!" he said, his hand out to catch it. "There is something I want to discuss with you, Fudge. It may as well be now. Sit down."

Fudge didn't move; he seemed to be rooted to the spot. "You... Where's your...?"

"I don't need a wand," said Harry. "I am one. Sit down!" Harry put a degree of command behind his words and Ron, Madam Pomfrey and Sirius sat as well as Fudge. Harry and Snape exchanged an amused glance. Harry turned his attention back to Fudge. "As you well know, Sirius committed no crime. We have three options, a pardon for the crimes he never committed, which would be absurd; a full investigation, which could take years; or a statement from the Ministry - signed by you - stating he was wrongfully imprisoned."

"But..."

"If you issue a that statement, the Daily Prophet may never find out just how you risked my life simply because you wanted to look good."

"You keep some strange company - a werewolf, a murderer and a Death Eater." Fudge indicated Snape.

Fudge was no fool, Harry had to give him that. "To my knowledge Professor Snape has never been charged with anything. If he has, you will pardon him."

"Now see here... I don't have to take orders from... Dumbledore, what do you say?"

"I think Harry is being perfectly reasonable." Dumbledore looked up from tickling the babies.

When Fudge had slunk out, Snape said, "You're not going to give my children those names." He looked around, apparently only then realising what he'd said. Nobody looked surprised.

"Nothing wrong with Tarquin and Jessica," said Harry, airily.

Snape looked at Hermione, who was convulsed with laughter. "Oh. It's some kind of Muggle joke," he said.

"What are you going to call them?" asked Sirius.

"'No' and 'idea'," said Harry. It was true, he really didn't have a clue. Godparents would be another problem, one he was trying not to think about.

Hermione asked, "Is You-Know-Who dead?" In the background one of the babies whimpered.

"He's petrified and in another dimension," Harry held his arms out for his daughter. "Dead may be too much to hope for."

"Does that mean someone could bring him back?"

There was a silence. Then Lupin spoke for the first time, "Given sufficient study, a willingness to risk their sanity and possibly bring about the end of the world, yes, someone could bring him back."

"I might have guessed you'd know," spat Snape. His dislike of Lupin seemed unabated.

"I am a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," Lupin's voice was mild.

"Is anyone that mad?" said Hermione.

"Malfoy?" suggested Harry. "Pettigrew? Some of those Death Eaters... Oh." He suddenly remembered Goyle's father's face and he stared down at the gold flocked white of the bedspread.

Dumbledore looked sympathetic. "Professor Snape has told Mr Goyle about his father. He took the news as well as can be expected."

Harry said, "I didn't mean to..."

"I think you should all go now," Madam Pomfrey shooed them all to the door. "He's tired, and I don't want you upsetting him." Snape hung back a little, but she shooed him out, too.

Even after they'd gone, Harry didn't feel much better.

***

For the fourth time during History of Magic, Hermione nudged Ron. Harry grinned at her; Hermione didn't like Ron staring at Harry's tits, but she couldn't make him stop for long. The same was true of every boy in the class except Neville. Neville was so determined not to look that he might as well have been looking for all the good it did but Dean's eyes practically stood out on stalks.

Harry heard Hermione sigh. He might have done the same but he knew it wouldn't do any good. His breasts were uncomfortable, but he didn't dare touch them; the last time he'd adjusted them in public he'd been sure that virtually every boy in his class had nearly come on the spot. He didn't dare risk it again.

It was three weeks since he'd had the babies, and he'd only just been pronounced safe to be around when casting spells. Until this week he'd been in his room with Auntie Molly and the nurse, struggling with homework and motherhood but with his NEWTs so close he didn't dare fall behind with this work and he'd rejoined his lessons.

***

"You'll have to make up your mind," Hermione said, later that day.

"About what?"

"You can't stay unmarried."

Harry wanted to say 'wanna bet?' but instead he said, "No," with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

"I've been reading up on it," Hermione waved a book.

"I know," said Harry. "My marriage will place a geas on men - they'd notice me, but not in the way they do now." Hermione looked disappointed.

He'd been giving the problem some thought, but given the life he'd have to lead he was certain no sane man would want him. He wasn't fooled for a minute by Dean's fascination for his breasts; that was curiosity, nothing more. Malfoy's interest was no harder to divine, his lust was for the influence he'd have as Harry's consort - he didn't like Harry himself any more now than he ever had. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more Harry came to the realisation that his body had made the only possible choice.

One of the children started to cry, and Harry put down his quill. By the time he reached the cot the second one had joined in. Harry picked up his little girl; she was almost always the first to start. "You'll have to wait," he told the other. Of course, he took no notice and continued to scream.

Harry unbuttoned his shirt, and undid the nursing bra both without taking his pullover off. He sat down, and the baby sucked at his breast powerfully. He winced. "I should have called you Jessica - and him Tarquin," he said. "It would have been fun to see the two of you run riot in supermarkets."

Hermione giggled. "You'd make a splendid middle class parent," she said. "One of those who ignores everything their children do, until some stranger tells them off."

"You've met them, too," said Harry. "Though the worst example I knew was called Dudley not Tarquin."

The nurse came in. "Oh, you've got her. Good."

"Yes," said Harry, unnecessarily.

"Where did they get her from?" asked Hermione, when she'd gone. This was the first time she'd seen the nurse - in fact, because today Ron was at Quidditch practice this was the first time he and Hermione been alone together since he'd given birth.

"Scary nurse shop, I reckon." Harry moved to sit more comfortably. "But she seems very capable."

"What happens when you're in lessons?"

"Um...the nurse feeds them with milk from me," said Harry. He blushed.

"How?"

"Breast pump," he said, blushing even more. "I hate the thing."

"Sounds awful."

"It's not as bad as it sounds, but it was pretty strange the first few times." He'd felt like a cow, but didn't want to say that. He wasn't sure how Hermione would take it.

"Did you know Molly went to see Snape?" Hermione twirled her quill and dripped ink on her skirt.

"No? Did she say why?" Harry looked down at the baby. Molly had come to see him as soon as she'd heard he'd had them, and was currently staying at Hogwarts carrying on a battle royal with the Ministry nurse over the care of Harry's children. Harry stayed out of it; it seemed safest.

"Ron asked her, but she wasn't giving anything away. It wasn't about him."

"So it must have been about me." Harry sighed.

"What was it like?" Hermione asked, after a moment.

Harry didn't pretend to misunderstand her. "It hurt," he said. "Not quite as bad as the Cruciatus curse but close."

"What sort of pain?"

"Like period pain, only much worse." Harry knew that this was simply Hermione. She had to have information. "And I wasn't at all brave about it."

"So what did you do?"

"Screamed. Called Snape everything I could think of--"

"Like what?"

"Bastard. Fuckwit. Creep. Oh, and I broke one of the bones in his hand I held on to him so tightly. Pomfrey had to heal it for him when he got back."

Hermione sniggered. "What did he say?"

"Nothing. Which was very good of him, really. He did say there was no point blaming him, which is true, he had every reason to believe I was taking a contraceptive. Which I was."

"Was it very strange?"

"Yes. Especially when they came out of me. I was more relieved than anything by then, though."

Hermione's lips tightened. "You know you could have died?"

"Yes. So did Snape. I thought I was going to when Voldemort took me. And when I knew I was going to have my children in a forest. I suppose I must be very hard to kill."

Silence. Then Hermione asked, "Was Snape pleased?"

"Yeah." Harry smiled at the memory. "For a moment I thought he was going to cry."

Hermione looked sceptical. "He hasn't been to see you much."

"He visits when he thinks I'm asleep - or that there's no-one here."

***

The exams came closer, and Harry wished his mind were on them rather than his personal life. Ron and Hermione were studying hard, their future depended on this, but the only thing at stake for Harry was his pride. Nobody cared how many NEWTs he got and his 'career' was assured. Something would have to be done.

***

"What on Earth have you brought them down here for?" Snape stood by his lectern for a moment then came to the door. "Come to my rooms," he said.

"I brought them to see you." Harry put the children down on Snape's spare chair and sat down on a stool.

"What for?"

Belatedly, Harry decided on the truth. "It's more that I wanted to see you, and it's the nurse's afternoon off and Auntie Molly's gone to Hogsmeade." Harry saw Snape wince at Molly Weasley's name.

"I see," Snape said.

"I want to ask you something."

"Go on." Snape was watching the children, his expression one that Harry couldn't decipher.

Harry took a deep breath. "Why don't you want me?" He'd decided to ask the most important question first.

Snape looked somewhat taken aback, as if that wasn't the question he had been expecting. "It isn't a question of that," he said. "I'm not suitable for you."

Stuart whimpered, as if he was about to wake up, and Harry turned to look at him for a moment. The baby quietened. "What does that mean?" Harry asked.

"Just what I say. There is no way your godfather - or the Ministry - would countenance your having anything further to do with me."

"They wouldn't be marrying you." Harry saw Snape swallow; he said, "I want you to consider it, please."

"Why?" Snape found his voice after a long pause.

Harry had been half expecting that. "My parents never told anyone about me. What I am, I mean. They didn't even tell Professor Dumbledore." He stopped. "I think they were right."

"Why...?"

Harry waved his hand and Snape was silent. "I'm not anything to anyone, really, except a symbol, or a pawn. Except you. I mean, Hermione and Ron like me, but they're going to marry each other, and Sirius likes me but he's different. Like my Dad. And anyway, he's got Remus." Harry was pleating his robe between his fingers. He didn't dare look up.

"Is this leading anywhere?"

"Sorry, yes. I need someone who can help me protect myself from the Ministry and from...anyone else who might want to use me."

Snape folded his hands. "And what if I were to 'use you' as you put it? I could."

"Yes. But I think perhaps if you'd wanted that you would have told someone about...about being with me. About being Stuart and Anne's father. A long time ago."

"I could be playing some very deep game of double bluff," said Snape.

"Yes, you could."

"And you're prepared to trust me."

"Yes." Harry didn't look up.

"People will call you a fool."

"It would make a change from you doing it."

There was a silence. "I have a question for you," said Snape.

"What?"

"Why did you give my children those Muggle names? I mean, 'Stuart' and 'Anne' they're so...pedestrian."

Harry stretched out as well as he could on the low stool. "I didn't want names that reminded me of anyone or anything, and I don't know anyone with those names...not well, I mean. I considered James and Lily, but I couldn't live every day with that reminder."

Snape was silent for a moment. Then he said, "I understand." His voice was soft, surprisingly sympathetic.

Stuart moved and started to cry. "Hungry," said Harry.

"Give me Anne," said Snape. "You can't feed him properly on that stool."

It was only when Harry left Snape's rooms that he realised he hadn't had an answer. But then, he hadn't really asked the question.

***

Harry didn't quite know what to make of Snape's silence over the next few days. He tried to tell himself that his nerves were from the exams, but that was a lie. Every mealtime his eyes were on Snape - and Snape's were on him, coldly assessing, waiting.

***

Harry's last exam was Care of Magical Creatures - the written paper rather than the practical, which had been earlier in the week. The last exam of his final year at Hogwarts.

Afterwards he, Ron and Hermione went to his rooms. Harry sat on the sofa; Stuart and Anne were asleep in their cots. Harry didn't know what to do now that he didn't have to study. "I should feel different," he said.

"How?" Hermione looked up from her contemplation of the kittens playing on the firescreen. "You feel how you feel."

"I suppose so. I've made such a mess of everything, I wish..." There was a knock at the door, and Harry got up. "I wish that nurse would remember the damn password." But it wasn't the nurse. It was Snape.

Hermione stood up, Harry heard her drop something. "We were just going, Professor," she said. "Come on Ron." Ron looked a bit blank, but he followed her out. The door closed behind them.

"You passed Potions," Snape said.

"Should you tell me that?"

"Probably not."

"Well, good. That's good news. Anyway, would you like a drink?" Harry knew he was waffling, but couldn't help it.

"No. But thank you."

Harry's heart sank a bit. "Why...?"

"Why am I here?" Snape paused, as if to think. "To ask you something." He stopped again, then said, "To ask you if you'll marry me."

"Oh." Harry was so surprised he hardly took in the question. "Um...yes. Yes I will."

"You need to be very sure about this." Snape sounded as if he were about to try to talk Harry out of it.

Harry put a hand on Snape's shoulder. "What about you? Will your family approve of me?"

"I haven't any family, so the question doesn't arise."

"You have," said Harry. Snape raised an eyebrow. Harry went on, "Anne and Stuart." "

Ah," said Snape. "They're almost bound not to approve. 'Why did you marry that horrible man' they'll say."

Harry smiled, and moved closer. He rested his head on Snape's shoulder.

Gently, as if uncertain, Snape put both hands on Harry's waist. "People will ask you why you're marrying a penniless schoolmaster. What will you say?"

Harry pressed a little closer. "There is a rumour that you have fabulous wealth."

"False, I'm afraid. So if it is a cunning plan to get your hands on my money I'd suggest you back out now. Harry, what will you say?"

"I don't suppose they'd believe me if I say it's because I love you madly?"

"Even I don't believe it."

"I'll tell them you're the best man for the job. The beauty of it is, it's true, but everyone will think it's a joke." Harry sniffed at the weird chemical smell that always seemed to hang around Snape. It was strangely like coming home. He said, "I suppose it's foolish of me to ask you not to lie to me again?"

Snape looked mildly curious.

"When you said you didn't love me."

"That was stupid. I let myself be blinded by your...perfection. I should have realised what sort of man you needed."

Harry choked. "You've spent seven years, almost, telling me how stupid, spoiled, arrogant, ignorant and generally hopeless I am, and now--"

"I lied," said Snape. And kissed him.

***

The End

***

**Author's Note:**

> I have lost contact with Tidmag, who co-wrote this a long time ago, which is why it's taken me so long to post it on here. If she is out there, please get in touch.


End file.
